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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634138">The Interwoven Lie</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonymindpalace/pseuds/moonymindpalace'>moonymindpalace</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>GOT7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Jackson is always a good friend in my stories), Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst and Porn, Bambam is a beautiful little devil, Betrayal, Big Gay Mobsters, But they're all so charismatic, Character Death, Consensual Sex, Dom/sub, Dubious Morality, Dysfunctional Family, Everyone Has Issues, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Infidelity, It's a crime-riddled universe everyone is horrible, Jackson is a Good Friend, Jaebeom is questionable at best, Jinyoung is a snake on a leash, M/M, Manipulation, Mark is the hottest motherfucker to ever live, Murder, Overall just: Love/Hate, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Prostitution, Psychological Drama, Rags to Riches, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Revenge, Slavery, Smut, Trust Issues, Youngjae is lowkey the smartest of them all, Yugyeom is both cute and psycho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:08:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>70,235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634138</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonymindpalace/pseuds/moonymindpalace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kunpimook grows up in the slums of Daegu, helpless against the poverty, the loan sharks and the bullies. Desperate, he drops out of school and becomes a rent-boy, but even that can’t feed his family, and as a last resort he sells himself as a slave to one of Seoul’s greatest mob bosses. There, his beauty and ambiguous personality make him into a glamorous companion, playing those in power in order to survive on secrets and influence.<br/>That is, until a few years later his brother Yugyeom is hired by his master and threatens to ruin all Bambam has become.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam/Kim Yugyeom, Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam/Mark Tuan, minor Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung - Relationship, one sided Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam/Jackson Wang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Obscure Relations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story started being written in 2017, based on an idea from 2015. I finished it last year but it had to go through massive rounds of revision before making much sense. My eternal gratitude to Isis — concept genius and character psychologist  without whom I would have never been able to finish this — and to Marina — who laid the ground for many worldbuilding rules at the very first read. This is my longest work to date and was a struggle and a massive victory too.</p><p><b>A few key notes:</b><br/>In the story's universe, Asia never fully recovered from the 20th century wars and crisis. When Bambam is born, Korea is politically stable, but on the following decade the economy fails and the system becomes more corrupt, social inequality is absurd and the national currency becomes nearly worthless.<br/>We tried to be as conscious as possible about the problematics of incest and consent, so all scenes are consensual, and when consent is dubious that's addressed in the story.<br/>Sex work has a prominent role in the story and is treated by the characters as work: neither romanticised or vilified.<br/>Still: I'm always open to pointers and feedback, please don't shy away from debating in the comments!</p><p>Hope you all have a nice read, and thank you for being here 💚</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Warning:</b> this chapter has a scene in which a character is manipulated and coerced into killing himself.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <strong>BAMBAM</strong>
</p><hr/>
<p>Money had always been tight, with his mother being a single mum and all that, and back even when Yugyeom’s father was still alive they never got any better because he wasn't a very clever man and didn't seem to realise two children were expensive to keep. He wasn't clever for business either, and when he got himself killed Kunpimook felt sorry for his unlucky family.</p>
<p>Their mother worked on the shops, she had been a trained factory worker once but now there were no factories to work at, just hollow warehouses by the road and the shops with their employees running around to change the price tags every few days with the ridiculous inflation. Kunpimook himself had been a part-timer on a convenience store, but his boss was shitty. The guy liked to slap him around the head, called him a retard when he made mistakes, and just didn't pay him right. He was supposed to get 30.000 won every shift, but he got roughly 40.000 a week, and Kunpimook could be a good for nothing but he still knew how to count, so he quit. No point getting beat for money that barely afforded Yugyeom's lunch at school.</p>
<p>But not the same school Kunpimook went to, where an older boy had approached him right before lunch halfway through March.</p>
<p>“Wanna a ten-dollar if to do me a blow job?”, he’d said, blunt like that, and Kunpimook’s heart faltered a beat. Why him? Why now? Was it a joke? What if it was a trap now Jackson-hyung and the other older boys weren’t there to defend him? And if it wasn't, if Kunpimook said yes, what then? Was everybody going to know? Was his mother going to find out? Probably not.</p>
<p>“I never blowed no one.”, he said, hungry and shocked, because ten dollars could save a life these days, struggling to keep a straight face.</p>
<p>“No problem,” the boy smiled, “I’ll teach you.”</p>
<p>The boy kept coming back, after that, always for the same thing, for the same price, always sliding the bill into Kunpimook's back pocket in a way that made his fingers graze his arse. It was thrilling, to learn how to keep quiet on a school bathroom, knees against the cold tile floor, swallowing and sucking with all he had, but thinking about the money, otherwise, they would only have dinner again in four days, when their mother got her payment. His new skill made its way around school subtly, because even with the same-sex marriage bill from the last decade boys were boys and couldn’t find a balance between looking for fun and proving their manhood, and soon he could scrap some dollars while scraping his knees on the bathroom stalls.</p>
<p>He heard about the bar behind the old plastic factory in July, where the people working at the side door welcomed him with no questions, no demands, and left him to learn how to navigate on his own. He learnt pretty fast, raised his tabs accordingly — he had a pretty mouth, a blow job was now worth at least a thirty bill — and kept quiet about where the money was coming from. At home, he said it was a shift job, at night. His mother believed, or pretended to while thinking he was dealing drugs, didn’t complain when he gave up and dropped out of school. Yugyeom frowned and asked if it was safe to be out so late at night.</p>
<p>There was barely a year and a half in age between him and Yugyeom, but the boy was already starting to look older than him because he was tall and had a constant crease on his forehead like a cunning old man.</p>
<p>“You has to stop worryin’ about stuff, Gyeom-ah”, Kunpimook said one afternoon while they perused a pile of about to expire food on sale at the grocery store.</p>
<p>“But it’s you, I’m supposed to worry, hyung.”</p>
<p>It was cute, and Kunpimook feigned an innocence he had long lost.</p>
<p>“What if you’s one of them smart kids that go to college, but instead burn all your brain cell worryin’? Better save it for ya homework.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The streets were dirty and the men usually drunk. The first boy from school found him, somehow, and now had enough money for more than a blow. When autumn started the cold was bitter and the rain never stopped, and he had to hang his work clothes on the heater at the back of the bar alongside the other hookers. The money was irregular, some nights flowing like water, other nights he could only manage 200.000 won that wasn’t worth much.</p>
<p>They all spoke while waiting for clients and gossiped about that girl that run off with a pimp, or the underage boys on the bar. They wondered how it was to live like the fancy prostitutes downtown that were paid in dollar all the time and got sugar daddies to spoil them. One of Kunpimook's clients sometimes gave him gifts, usually rings, because <em>apparently</em> he had nice hands, and they weren't expensive but looked good. Some of his pay had to go for makeup and clothes, all cheap and tacky, but with time, he learnt how to make himself look appealing.</p>
<p>When November started, he had been in the streets for nearly five months, and if nothing, his makeup skills were bomb. It was Friday, so despite the horrible cold, he put on his tighter jeans, a sequin shirt, heeled shoes and so much mascara he could see his lashes. One of the girls he was friends with, Lola, had dyed his hair blond, and it looked extra soft because she was talented, so Kunpimook stood against the wall and run his hands through his hair, pleased. If he got lucky, he could buy something nice for Yugyeom’s birthday later that week.</p>
<p>The first client just wanted a quickie, and the second was too weird so Kunpimook tactfully sent him away. The third wanted to suck his cock, for a change, and was rather enjoyable. He hoped the fourth would be looking for a full night because his feet were starting to hurt from so much standing. A patron walked out and he smiled sweetly but the guy kept walking like a rude bastard, so Kunpimook dug into his pocket and fished a cigarette and a lighter. On the first drag, heady and smooth, he realised it wasn't one of his own cheap smokes, but one of the expensive American ones he nicked from Jackson.</p>
<p>For once, he felt amazing, looking all sexy and dangerous under a streetlamp, ignoring the biting cold to enjoy the warm taste of the cigarette, blowing smoke out of his nose and winking to every passer-by.</p>
<p>A woman was standing on the other side of the street, eyeing him with interest, and he winked again. Doing girls wasn't exactly his preference, but was nice, especially for the praise he got after, and he finished the cigarette with a smile, ready for a full night of soft flesh and handiwork. The woman smiled back, and Kunpimook had just put his foot out of the sidewalk when a red sports car braked right in front of him. Frowning, he bent slightly to send the guy behind the wheel away in the sweetest way possible.</p>
<p>“Hyung-nim wanna come ‘round tomorrow?” he purred because all guys loved the whole <em>hyung</em> thing. “Bam’s busy tonight.”</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you doing <em>here</em>, Kunpimook?” asked an angry voice, and the sound of his real name shook Kunpimook to the core.</p>
<p>“What the <em>fuck</em>, Jackson-hyung? What you doing in here?” he whispered through gritted teeth.</p>
<p>“I asked first, c’mon, get in the car.”</p>
<p>“Get out, I'm working.”</p>
<p>Jackson cursed and flung himself out of the car. Too bad Kunpimook was distracted when he showed up, or he wouldn't have acknowledged him at all. Sadly, the woman from across the street had vanished now, and Kunpimook was stuck with an overbearing best friend and no client for the night.</p>
<p>He clicked his tongue and crossed his arms.</p>
<p>“Go home, hyung.”</p>
<p>“You crazy brat, what are you even doing with your life?”</p>
<p>“I-”</p>
<p>“I ain’t arguing with ya, c’mon, <em>get in the car</em>.”</p>
<p>Kunpimook opened his mouth to complain, but Jackson grabbed him by the back of his neck and dragged him to the passenger’s door, opening it and shoving him inside.</p>
<p>“Ain’t you listening? I’m fucking working right now!”, he yelled while struggling to escape.</p>
<p>“Well, I don’t care”, said Jackson, getting behind the wheel again and starting the engine, “ain’t like you shoulda be over here whoring yourself when you still a kid.”</p>
<p>“I ain’t no kid.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you are, are you crazy? Don’t ya know how the streets are? Do you wanna die early?”, he said, “Do you ever think of your ma?”</p>
<p>“Do ya think I do it ‘cos I like it or what? I need the money. Me ma needs the money.”</p>
<p>“But do ya tell her where the money comes from?”</p>
<p>“‘Course not.”</p>
<p>“Do you wanna me to break the news?”</p>
<p>“What the fuck! Are ya fucking crazy? D’ya wanna kill her?” Kunpimook's face was flaming hot, a mixture of anger and desperation flushing him and making his heart go crazy, his breath short and uneven.</p>
<p>“Stop this nonsense or I'm gonna go tell her.”</p>
<p>“Jack-hyung, you canna be serious”, he said lowly.</p>
<p>“I ain’t laughin’, aren’t I?”</p>
<p>With trembling hands, Kunpimook reached for the glove box and grabbed Jackson’s pack of Marlboro Reds. His hand was shaking so much he couldn't aim the flame of the lighter on the tip.</p>
<p>“So, you also smoke now?”, asked Jackson, sarcastic, but even though the rage, Kunpimook could sense how hurt he was. That didn't make him any less furious though, so he blew the smoke on Jackson’s face and kept sulking.</p>
<p>The prostitution — the sex with money relationship — wasn’t something he lost sleep over and he always knew someone like him would die early regardless of what he did of his life. What actually bothered him was the intrusion.</p>
<p>“You's my hyung, not me dad, stop nosing in.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off”, muttered Jackson, “I’ nosing in ‘cos I care about ya, alright?”</p>
<p>Refusing to reply, Kunpimook opened his window and kept smoking.</p>
<p>“Why didn't ya come to me? If you's in need, you can count on me, Bammie, I don’t care about ya just ‘cos ya're my dongsaeng, it ain't duty, it’s ‘cos I like you.”</p>
<p>Kunpimook kept looking out of the window; if Jackson was calling him Bammie, he either wanted something or was being heartfelt. His name was in Thai even though he was born in Korea because his mother was Thai and loved the way the name sounded in her native language. Writing it in Hangul was a pain in the arse, pronouncing was equally awful, and through the years he had a dozen nicknames to make up for it. The longest lasting was Jackson’s “Bammie”, which he shortened to “Bam” for his street name.</p>
<p>He sulked in silence until Jackson parked in the corner of the apartment block his family lived.</p>
<p>“Take me back.”</p>
<p>“Can ya give up on this shit? I ain’t—”</p>
<p>“I can’t walk in dressed like this. I’ve to change and clean me face, hyung.”</p>
<p>For the first time ever, Jackson cuffed him around the head. Kunpimook looked back at him, shocked, and was met with a face that spelt do-you-think-I’m-stupid-or-what?</p>
<p>“I ain’t lying, I swear.” It wasn't a lie, he really couldn't walk home like that, and the best way to fool someone was spinning facts and hiding his real intentions.</p>
<p>“Sure”, Jackson snorted and started the car. “You can borrow my clothes.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Half an hour later, when he finally walked inside his home, Jackson was watching him like a hawk from the street after a completely silent stay at his apartment for changing, Yugyeom was sitting on his makeshift bed on the floor with the lights off and looking like a ghost.</p>
<p>His eyes trailed from Kunpimook's face to the clothes he was wearing, baggier than his own, and the crease on his forehead got deeper.</p>
<p>“Did you eat?” Kunpimook asked to distract him.</p>
<p>“Yes, hyung.”</p>
<p>“And ma?” he asked too, going for the cardboard box that served as his closet and starting to undress.</p>
<p>“Already asleep.”</p>
<p>“But did she eat?”</p>
<p>Yugyeom paused, while Kunpimook found his pyjamas, ridiculously wrinkled because he had thrown them in the box carelessly in the morning.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, hyung.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay, Gyeom-ah.”  He stretched and dropped on the sofa — also known as his bed — grinding his teeth to suppress how angry he still was. “G’night.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The next night, he was sitting on the rails of the public park and smoking when his phone rang. Kunpimook picked it up warily, but the caller ID said it was Jamie, one of his sidewalk friends, not Jackson.</p>
<p>“Where are ya?”, she asked, the noise of the bar and the street on a Saturday night muffling her voice a bit.</p>
<p>“Not goin’.”</p>
<p>“What? Why?”</p>
<p>“Is a red BMW parked anywhere about?”</p>
<p>“What?” she cursed, probably looking around. “Actually, yeah, there’s one in the corner. Who's it?”</p>
<p>“Jackson-hyung.”</p>
<p>“Jackson Wang? What the fuck is happening between ya two? Lola-yah told me you spend last night with a hot guy with a red car, is that him?”</p>
<p>Kunpimook stomped on his cigarette, this time a cheap one that tasted disgusting and sour.</p>
<p>“He found out I'm workin’ there, threw a fit, said I have to drop it and drove me home like he’s me dad or somethin’.”</p>
<p>Jamie snickered and repeated what she had just heard for someone else, probably Lola.</p>
<p>“Lollie says Jackson-oppa’s jealous, Bam-ah. He’s not ya dad but he wanna be your daddy.”</p>
<p>“<em>What?</em> Tell Lola-yah to have her head checked, hyung doesn't wanna fuck me.”</p>
<p>“That’s what <em>he wants ya to think</em>!”, yelled Lola from the background.</p>
<p>“Fuck off, you both.”</p>
<p>Jamie laughed, making kissy sounds on the phone, but then told Lola to shut up and her voice got serious.</p>
<p>“So you's not coming. What about tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“If he’s there I can’t go too, he said he’d go and tell me mother.”</p>
<p>“What a dick’ead. But what about the money?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Kunpimook sighed, “there’s nothing I can do ‘bout it.”</p>
<p>“It sucks.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“Don’t smoke yourself dead, if he leaves one of us will call you, ‘kay?”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Jackson kept his watch for another week, and Kunpimook told his mother his pay was late. He didn't call Jackson, or any of their friends, and left the house every night, but instead of working, he went to the park and smoked, wasting the money he didn't have on a bad addiction he couldn't quit. His anger didn't necessarily subside, but as the days passed, he could see more clearly and plan more efficiently for the future. When the second week came by and Jackson was still wasting his nights parked on a backstreet watching the corner Kunpimook was supposed to be working on, both Jamie and Lola were going haywire, and Kunpimook sprang into action.</p>
<p>He dressed in old jeans and a simple white shirt, borrowed from Yugyeom. Half of his piercings were left at home, and his hair lay flat, the dark roots showing and making him look almost <em>normal</em>, like any other neighbourhood teen boy trying to look cool.</p>
<p>Jackson answered the door shirtless and immediately crossed his arms upon seeing Kunpimook, who also crossed his own arms because if he looked too submissive, the act wouldn't sell.</p>
<p>“Hyung”, he said, looking down.</p>
<p>“What do you want?”</p>
<p>“You still angry at me?”</p>
<p>“What do you <em>want</em>, Kunpimook-ssi?”</p>
<p>With some effort, he made his eyes water a little like he was hurt by his hyung’s tone.</p>
<p>“I wanna apologise, alright? I ain’t—”, he stomped his foot like a stubborn kid, “I thought a lot about what ya said, it ain’t right to act like I did.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Jackson sighed, “I don’t pull this card often, but I'm older than you, I know better, Bammie. You have to understand this, you're still too young.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, hyung.” He finally looked up and frowned cutely. Cutesy was easier to pull on clients, but Jackson had a good enough heart to fall for it, even if it was poorly performed. “I ain’t gonna do it again.”</p>
<p>What “it” was supposed to mean, only Kunpimook knew.</p>
<p>Jackson hugged him, with both arms, rubbing his back and whispering comforting words like Kunpimook was about to start crying out of shock, or something. He hugged him back and couldn't help but remember Lola’s words.</p>
<p>Were you disappointed with me? he thought, or were you jealous?</p>
<p>“If ya need help, any help, Bammie-ah,” Jackson whispered on his ear, “ya come and talk to me, ‘right? No need to put yourself in danger when you have hyung.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Do you promise?” Jackson pleaded, his voice a mix of possessiveness and care, which meant he was <em>jealous</em>, which was ridiculous but a little thrilling too.</p>
<p>“I promise, hyung.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He went back to work, and Jackson probably knew, because Mister Wang’s men went to the bar behind the old factory, but nothing happened. The nights passed, the money kept tight, the weather got colder and the clients grumpier. By the time Christmas decorations were up on the shops and snow covered the streets, Jackson was suspiciously quiet, and Kunpimook started growing weary.</p>
<p>On some weekends Kunpimook didn’t work and they went out together, along with Namjoon and Jooheon, both the same age as Jackson, and sometimes Changkyun, who was the same age as Kunpimook, to eat cheap food and drink soju informally. On those occasions, Kunpimook nicked more of Jackson’s cigarettes and called him Sonnie-hyung and Jackson’s eyes seemed to melt, their two weeks of silent war forgotten.</p>
<p>They were together on a Saturday afternoon at Jackson’s flat, just the two of them. Kunpimook was doing his best not to look exhausted but having arrived at four in the morning from his last client, he was sure the dark circles under his eyes were showing.</p>
<p>“Hyung, can I nap?”</p>
<p>Jackson looked at him dead in the eye, his frequently restless mind focused for once. Kunpimook braced himself for the accusations — or at least the questions — about his lack of sleep, but instead, Jackson pulled him by the hand to the big sofa.</p>
<p>Kunpimook had met Jackson when they were respectively fourteen and seventeen, and back then their age difference seemed huge, especially because Jackson was cool, his father was a drug dealer, and his best friend was Scary-Punk-Jooheon — who wasn't scary at all when you got to know him —, but Jackson had always been open and outgoing, a people magnet and Kunpimook got closer to him without even expecting. They had never been too cuddly with each other, Jackson was his hyung but Kunpimook wasn’t a baby. So, he was quite surprised when, after he laid down on the sofa, Jackson laid beside him and hugged him.</p>
<p>“Are ya taking care of yourself?”, asked Jackson on a low voice, and Kunpimook understood it was his way of asking about the nights he spent on the sidewalk.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I'm just sleepy.”</p>
<p>“Okay. Remember what you promised?”</p>
<p>Kunpimook grit his teeth and turned around, facing Jackson, who had his eyes wide open.</p>
<p>“I do, hyung. But I'm gettin’ by right now, ‘right.” He said with a small smile, and hugged his hyung back, cuddling into his chest. Jackson kissed his cheek.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The first time Jackson kissed him on the mouth, they were coming back from a party, leaving Namjoon behind with his girl, Jooheon and Changkyun already home, when they stopped at a convenience store to buy candy on a whim. Jackson made him choose between lime or cola lollipops, and after he chose cola, Jackson bought a handful of lime flavoured ones, just to spite him.</p>
<p>“Punk kids don't get what they wanna, Bammie-ah.”</p>
<p>Kunpimook stuffed the lollipop in his mouth and rolled his eyes but accepted when Jackson reached for his hand on the way back to the car.</p>
<p>“Why is hyung is so petty, grow up.”</p>
<p>“Hey!”, Jackson protested, but laughed and pulled him closer. “Don’t tease me for me height, ya skinny brat.”</p>
<p>“I ain’t even!”</p>
<p>Jackson laughed again, with his full body, his lungs working and stretching his shirt, and with a fluid motion pressed his lips against Kunpimook’s. They were sticky with sugar and tasted like lime and soju but were soft and warm.</p>
<p>Kunpimook accepted the kiss and put his arms around Jackson’s neck, pulling him closer. But Kunpimook felt nothing.</p>
<p>“You know I like ya, right?”, asked Jackson a while later.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“But you don’t like me?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think we’d be good for each other.”</p>
<p>“Then why’re you kissing me?”</p>
<p>“‘Cos it’s nice, hyung.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>That small exchange of words seemed to settle them. Kunpimook kept working on the streets, Jackson kept his complaints to himself, they kept hanging out with their friends and kissing sometimes. Some people seemed to pick up on a change in their behaviour, and unfortunately, Yugyeom was one of them.</p>
<p>One night, Jackson drove him to his apartment block and got out of the car to open the door for him because he liked to play the gentleman. He left a kiss on his cheek, which Kunpimook made a big show of wiping off while laughing. Before leaving, Jackson kissed him once on the lips. When he opened the apartment door, Yugyeom was still up, apparently doing homework, but when Kunpimook passed him to go change, he jerked his chin towards the window facing the street.</p>
<p>“Are you dating him?”, Yugyeom asked, his high voice cutting, and Kunpimook's blood ran cold.</p>
<p>“Not really.”</p>
<p>“What does it mean?”</p>
<p>“That we ain’t really dating, I told hyung we wouldn't work.”</p>
<p>“It didn't seem like you were telling him anything like that.”</p>
<p>“Don’t get an attitude now, Yugyeom-ah.”, he admonished, turning back around to face his brother, “And don’t go tell mum, either. Jackson-hyung is my friend for years and he’s real nice and caring, mum’s too unfair about him.”</p>
<p>“She’s not home, anyway.”</p>
<p>They stood in silence, and after some time Yugyeom went back to his homework, the atmosphere around them so tense claustrophobia crawled up Kunpimook's throat. His friendship with Jackson had always been a sore subject, and hiding his work didn't help.</p>
<p>“How was school today?”, he asked, aiming for a light tone but not quite getting there.</p>
<p>“School was absolutely ordinary today, hyung.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be sarcastic.”</p>
<p>“Shouldn't you be working, right now?”</p>
<p>“It’s me day off. Watta’bout it?”</p>
<p>“Nothing.”, said Yugyeom, hiding behind his hair, but Kunpimook could see his mouth twisting. “Unless you're working for Jackson.”</p>
<p>“Listen here”, he interjected, slapping Yugyeom's shoulder on a whim but recoiling immediately, “I never talk to ya like that but show some respect, I'm older then ya, you can’t go ‘round talkin’ like that and implyin’ I'm lyin’.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom raised his head, the everlasting crease between his eyebrows deeper than ever.</p>
<p>“I'm not implying anything, hyung.”</p>
<p>That sentence made Kunpimook look at him, really <em>look</em>, his own forehead creasing with concentration.</p>
<p>“Yugyeom-ah, are ya <em>jealous</em>?”, he asked, “Ah, Gyeommie, I'm so sorry, I'm leavin’ you out, ain’t I? We used to spend so much time together.”</p>
<p>“Yeah”, Yugyeom replied and went back to his homework, “you're out all the time, I miss you, hyung.”</p>
<p>“‘Kay”, Kunpimook finished changing and looked around, “I’m no help with homework”, he said with a glance to the books and notebooks open on the kitchen table. He didn't miss school, had never been any good at it anyway. “But I can stay with you? And when you finish, we can make hot chocolate from that powder left from ya birthday.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom laughed lowly, making Kunpimook realise he hadn't heard him laugh for a long while.</p>
<p>“I'm not a baby to need company and milk, hyung.”</p>
<p>“It’s hot chocolate, Gyeom, I know ya love it, don’t pretend to be all grown up just ‘cos you’re seventeen.”, he put a hand on top of Yugyeom's head and let him rest his cheek against his stomach. “Especially when is just us in here.”</p>
<p>“Fine.”, the boy replied, and despite all his grown-up act, he pouted. “Open that box over there, it’s full of comics.”</p>
<p>“How did you get them? That’s a lot.”</p>
<p>“One of my mates is moving and gave it to me.”</p>
<p>“That’s nice of him. Speakin’ of your friends, any chance ya know what’s up with Jungkook-ah? Namjoon-hyung said he’s all moody and sad these days.”</p>
<p>“You saw hyung today?”</p>
<p>“Uh-um”, he answered without looking up, trying to choose an issue to read. “Jooheon-hyung was there too.”</p>
<p>“Nice.”, Yugyeom went silent for a while, probably working on his assignment, “Kookie failed one of his exams and doesn't want to tell his family. I think he’s stressing himself with the pressure of being Namjoon-hyung’s younger brother, but he won't acknowledge it.”</p>
<p>Kunpimook stood up, comic of choice in hand, and sat down besides Yugyeom, their shoulders nearly touching.</p>
<p>“Well, at least I ain't no pressure for you”, he said and smirked. Yugyeom shrugged and let the subject drop.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He knew he was just stalling and eventually Jackson would confront him about his insistence on being a rent-boy. The day — or rather, the night — came when January was ending, but the snow wasn't going away. The news was talking about a blizzard, and Kunpimook stood against the wall, hugging his arms fruitlessly trying to heat them. Beside him, Lola was hacking her lungs off but trying not to mess her lipstick, and Jamie was somewhere with a client, hopefully someplace warm.</p>
<p>The familiar red car stopped in front of them, and Lola almost got whiplash in her haste to look at him, but Kunpimook was calm. He had other things on his mind.</p>
<p>Jackson run out of the car prepared: he had a thick blanket and a wad of cash and thrust them both on Kunpimook's hands.</p>
<p>“I knew you'd be here,” he admonished, “c’mon, I'm paying for your night, get out of this fucking storm.”</p>
<p>Kunpimook accepted the money and the blanket and immediately passed them over to Lola, turning to her.</p>
<p>“Take it and go home, if ya find Jamie tell her I'm fine and to go home too.”</p>
<p>“Bam-ah… the mone—”</p>
<p>“We’ll be fine, now go, before you get too sick, Lollie."</p>
<p>He wrapped the blanket around her, his heartstrings constricting every time she coughed, and stacked the money safely inside her jacket. He didn't even know how much it was, and only hoped was enough to compensate the failed week. Only when Lola walked around the corner he turned back to Jackson.</p>
<p>“Let’s go, hyung”, he said and walked over to the car.</p>
<p>Jackson had grown up the son of a drug lord. Mister Wang wasn't one of the mob bosses they heard about on TV, but he had enough money and influence for Jackson to be sheltered despite living in a poor area and in touch with crime since an incredibly early age. Kunpimook knew he couldn't understand what drove someone to work on the streets on weather like that, wearing very little clothing, and to get actually naked if a client happened to show up.</p>
<p>“She your friend?”, was the first thing Jackson asked, and Kunpimook nodded.</p>
<p>“Same age as me, she’s real sweet and funny. There’s another girl, too, Jamie, she’s amazin’, you’d love her.”</p>
<p>“Are you advertising her to me?”</p>
<p>“I mean as a friend, hyung. The two of you’d get along, I think.”</p>
<p>They drove in silence for a while, and Kunpimook resisted the urge to bite his nails or to reach for a smoke.</p>
<p>“Can I sleep at yous today? I told Yugyeomie to sleep with ma in the bedroom, the living room is going to be fuckin’ freezin’.”</p>
<p>Jackson turned a sharp corner and got on the way to his own house. When they got to the wider avenue, he took a hand off the wheel to light a cigarette.</p>
<p>“You said ya wouldn't do it again.”</p>
<p>“And ya knew I was lyin’. What else were I supposed to do?”, he plucked the smoke from Jackson’s mouth and took a drag.</p>
<p>“Kunpimook-ah. You know I love you, right?”</p>
<p>Feeling had started to go back to his limbs, and Kunpimook kept silent, blowing warm smoke on his hands. He supposed he knew, but acknowledging it was another thing entirely.</p>
<p>“I love you and I want you to be <em>safe</em>. How many times do I have to tell you, working on the streets, being—”, Jackson took a deep breath. “Being a rent-boy is fucking <em>dangerous</em>.”</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes, Kunpimook opened the glove compartment and gestured at the gun Jackson kept in there.</p>
<p>“What ya do is, too, but you don’t hear me complaining ‘bout it”, he scratched his nose and turned up the heater. Then he turned to Jackson, thinking of the perfect comeback. “Fuckin’ ain't dangerous if you wear a condom, hyung.”</p>
<p>Jackson was silent for the rest of the drive and sent him straight to the ensuite for a hot shower, which he enjoyed a lot after the cold of the last days. His house’s shower wasn't any good and had a stream of cold water mixed with the hot that always gave his chills when they had enough for the gas bill anyway. When he stepped out of the bathroom, there were clothes on the bed, all clean and soft, but Jackson was nowhere in sight. Too tired, Kunpimook got dressed, hung his towel, and laid on the bed, turning off the lights and bundling up on the duvet. A few minutes later, Jackson came in.</p>
<p>“I'm gonna shower, okay?”</p>
<p>“Uh-hum", he replied, sleepy and finally relaxed; but for the next twenty minutes it took Jackson to shower he couldn't sleep.</p>
<p>Somehow, Jackson realised he was still awake when he came back and stroked his cheek when passing the bed.</p>
<p>“I ain’t angry at you, Bammie. Relax.”</p>
<p>“Where are ya going?”</p>
<p>“To sleep.”</p>
<p>“Where?”</p>
<p>“Sleep.”, Jackson repeated dumbly.</p>
<p>“Where are ya going to sleep, hyung?”</p>
<p>“Oh.”, he scratched his neck, in a rare moment of embarrassment, “In the sofa.”</p>
<p>“What? Why? It’s too cold. Just sleep here.” Kunpimook patted the other side of the bed, then curled into a ball and rolled over to face the nightstand.</p>
<p>The heating of the flat was amazing, and his body was nearly melting against the covers. Jackson was a restless sleeper, or perhaps he just wasn't asleep, but Kunpimook couldn't care, he closed his eyes and sighed contently, only regretting his mother and Yugyeom weren't as warm, because their heat had to be set low to save money.</p>
<p>“Bammie-ah are you asleep?”, Jackson whispered in the dark, and Kunpimook was too comfortable to move even his mouth, so he didn't reply. “I guess you are…”.</p>
<p>He heard the rustling of the sheets and the heat of Jackson coming closer, lightly touching his hair.</p>
<p>“Bammie-ah, you're so strong.”, he whispered, so lowly his voice could be mistaken for the wind outside. “You're so brave. I know it must be hard, and sad, to stay up all night, on your feet and cold, on your own, but you do it all for the people you love. I still hate what you do, because you deserve better, but I understand you, too. I promise you, Bammie, I'm gonna come up with something to help you, to make you happy and safe, so you can help your family.”</p>
<p>Kunpimook kept his eyes closed, his breath even, and enjoyed the small paradise that was Jackson’s warm hand on his face, and Jackson’s warm covers on his skin.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>After that night, Kunpimook got used to sleeping over at Jackson’s, and they slept on the same bed but never did anything. Once, they made out for a bit, but that was all, and somehow that made Kunpimook happier, made him feel comfortable in a way that he thought impossible. Affection, for him, existed in many forms, but lust he had known in only one way, the way his work and the boys at school with their bathroom blow jobs had taught him. Jackson wanted him, he was sure, but it was a different kind of lust.</p>
<p>It would be nice if he was in love with Jackson. He would drop everything, ask Jackson to help support his family, work with him, live with him, bathe in his light and his smiles for the rest of their lives, that would probably be short and meet an early end at some dark alley with gunshots raining on them. But he wasn't in love with Jackson, and it wasn't a matter of trying. Love couldn't be persuaded.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The warm winds of spring had just started, and he stood at his usual place but in broad daylight, waiting for Jackson. It started to rain out of nowhere, the rain unusually cold for that time of the year, and by the time Jackson arrived, he was shivering and drenched. Jackson’s car was a new one, also red, but a different model, even sleeker. Jackson had his bomber jacket on, and kissed him on the lips, once, as a form of greeting while dragging him to the car. Kunpimook nicked one of his smokes as soon as he got in his seat, and that probably clued Jackson about his state of mind.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“Remember you promised to help if I asked?”</p>
<p>“O’course.”</p>
<p>“Ma lost her job.”</p>
<p>“Fuck. ‘Kay, I have cash at home. Do you need groceries? Are the bills late?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, and yeah. I’ve figured how to fix this, though, but I need ya to help.”</p>
<p>“Are ya finally gonna cave in and marry me?”</p>
<p>Kunpimook bit his lip and snubbed the cigarette on the ashtray.</p>
<p>“Jackson-hyung, ya know the auction houses?”</p>
<p>He knew Jackson knew what the auction houses were because that’s what had gone wrong for Yugyeom’s father debt. When you owned too much money because of gambling or drugs or both, you could either pay, be sold as a slave on the auction houses, or give someone to be sold in your place. People usually gave up stepchildren or useless relatives and that covered the debt. Yugyeom's father didn't have the money to pay, nor the balls to give up Kunpimook for sale but hadn’t offered himself either. Jackson’s father eventually lost his patience and got him killed. Kunpimook's mother resented Mister Wang. Kunpimook just thought Yugyeom's father was incredibly dumb.</p>
<p>“Of course I do. You ain’t thinking of bein’ a slave trader, are ya?”</p>
<p>“No, I’m thinking of selling meself, actually.”</p>
<p>Jackson slammed on the breaks and the tires screeched against the road. It was a testament of how good of a driver he was that they didn't crash and he even somehow parked on a side street.</p>
<p>“Are ya crazy?”</p>
<p>“No, Sonnie-hyung, listen—”</p>
<p>“I ain't gonna listen to whatever nonsense you’ve got up in your head, Kunpimook.”</p>
<p>“Hyung, <em>listen</em>”, he stressed, grabbing Jackson’s face to make him stay still and look at him. “I ain’t going to live for long.”</p>
<p>“What? Are y—”</p>
<p>“I ain’t hurt or sick. But look at me. Look at <em>us</em>.” Jackson’s new blond hair was gorgeous, the fresh knife wound on his cheekbone wasn't. “We ain’t gonna survive for long. If I die, and I will, maybe next year, maybe next month, ma is gonna be empty-handed and sad, but if I sell meself— no, don’t interrupt me! If I sell meself we’d get at least a couple hundred thousand, because look at me, I’ve got skill and I'm young, so—”</p>
<p>“What skills do ya possibly have?” interjected Jackson, and Kunpimook looked at him dead in the eye. “Wait, you wanna sell yourself as a <em>sex slave</em>? That’s suicide.”</p>
<p>“Do I have to repeat what I said? Look at us, hyung, how long do you think we’re gonna live, even together?”</p>
<p>“Many years, I hope.”</p>
<p>“Stop lying to yourself, Jack. Listen, it’s just a thought, like, an option, ‘cos the streets really ain’t paying that much, and now ma’s jobless, and honestly? I'm so fuckin’ tired of bein’ on edge all the time and bein’ usele—”</p>
<p>“You're not useless.”</p>
<p>“—useless and they don’t need me, they need a future, hyung! If I drop dead tomorrow, what do I leave for them? Dirty secrets and cheap makeup.”</p>
<p>Jackson rubbed his face like he always did when he was pressured. Kunpimook looked at him, really looked, seeing the scars on his skin, the shadows under his eyes, his gorgeous mouth, and his strong features. He wished he were handsome like Jackson, maybe that way he’d make more on the streets.</p>
<p>“I don’t like it.”, Jackson grumbled. “I don’t like you being so desperate.”</p>
<p>Kunpimook said nothing because it was true. He was desperate, and he didn't like it, either.</p>
<p>“Let’s go home, I’ll get you money and drive you to the store. You need to dry yourself too and get some clothes or you gonna catch a cold.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, hyung.”</p>
<p>“It’s alright. Just forget about this selling yourself nonsense.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Things worsened, and by the end of the month, Kunpimook hadn't had dinner for a week, his mum for ten days, and Yugyeom for three days, now. He couldn't ask Jackson for more money or his mother would start asking questions, and the streets weren’t paying much either.</p>
<p>On a particularly bad Saturday, he came back from his second client of the night — an arsehole who pulled his hair and called him a dumb bitch when he complained — and found the sidewalk empty, both Jamie and Lola gone. Half an hour later Jamie came back, angry over something she didn't want to talk about, and the both of them settled for sulking, waiting for more clients, and waiting for Lola.</p>
<p>Jamie had another man, but it was a quickie. Kunpimook sucked two more guys off, and after he came back chewing gum with enough strength to break some teeth, Lola still wasn't back. They asked their other mates working that night, but they hadn't seen her, and the boy who stayed at the bar doors said she had left with someone he didn’t recognise a little after the bar opened. By the time the clock ticked three in the morning, a police car passed by in such a hurry they didn’t even process the cops were in the zone until after they were gone.</p>
<p>“Bam-ah.”, whispered Jamie, crossing her arms.</p>
<p>“I know. Bad feeling, right?”</p>
<p>“Your hair looks nice”, was all she said, “Lollie really got this colour right.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Lola was found dead on a dumpster, under a dozen garbage bags. All the family she had was a wretched granduncle living on a filthy flat that at least had some money to bury her, so all that was left of Lola — Yerin — was a necklace she had lent to Jamie, and Bam’s brand new red hair she had dyed. The police pretended to investigate for a week, only until a rent-boy they knew from passing was found on a ditch on the other side of the road and they just dismissed the case because who cared about whores.</p>
<p>The day after Lola’s funeral, Kunpimook went to Jackson’s house and sat on the couch for hours, silently staring into space. Jackson offered him food and tea, but he just shook his head. His mind was racing, panic overlapped with worry and a cold feeling of premonition. A loop of “if I drop dead tomorrow, what’s gonna happen?” played inside his head, and Jackson probably realised, because he just sat beside Kunpimook and held his hand.</p>
<p>“Whatever you decide”, he said eventually, and there was so much pain on his voice, “I’m gonna help ya out.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Jackson knew someone who knew someone who knew a guy who worked for one of Seoul’s slave traders. The first question the guy asked, Jackson told him later on, was how much Jackson expected from the bid.</p>
<p>“I told him I was selling to cover a two-hundred-thousand debt, and he said you’s probably worth more.”</p>
<p>“I'm just happy I ain’t worth <em>less</em> than two-hundred”, said Kunpimook through the phone. They weren't meeting much to avoid suspicion later when Kunpimook disappeared.</p>
<p>“I told him you were a… ya know.”</p>
<p>“Two words won’t hurt, Jackson-hyung.”</p>
<p>“A rent boy. And that’s why I thought about selling you as a sex slave,” Jackson paused, and Kunpimook took that moment to appreciate how firm he was acting, “he said he knows a good, specialised trader that can train ya. If you’re trained you’s worth more, but the auction house gets a bigger percentage.”</p>
<p>“How much?”</p>
<p>“One-third, instead of one-quarter.”</p>
<p>“And if I'm worth more than two hundred without training, with that I’ll be, like, double? What do you think?”</p>
<p>“I—”, he paused again. “I think we should run away, Bammie.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I’ve been thinking, I know a lot of people, I’ve got this hyung who lives in Seoul that could help with a job, we could send money to your family every month, your mum wouldn’t need to see me, we—”</p>
<p>“Can ya <em>not</em> do that?” interrupted Kunpimook, pulling his hair. He was sitting on a fire escape staircase. “Imaginin’ things will be better won’t make ‘em any better, Jackson-hyung.”</p>
<p>“But-”</p>
<p>“What do ya think of the percentage?”</p>
<p>The line was silent for a while, then Jackson sighed.</p>
<p>“I think it’s up to ya. The guy is waiting for my call, he said as soon as we settle, he will come and get you.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Remember, the money’s got to be totally legal, otherwise ma is gonna get suspicious and not take it”, he said once.</p>
<p>“Laundering money takes a lot of time.”</p>
<p>“I know, but I know my mum real well. You've got to launder it and send—”, he interrupted himself. “Hyung.”</p>
<p>“What.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>Jackson looked at him but said nothing.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The night was surprisingly warm when he left home the following week and walked seven blocks to the meeting place. Jackson opened the car door for him, as usual.</p>
<p>“You ain’t bringing anything?”</p>
<p>“Nope. Threw my keys and my phone on the sewers two blocks away from here.”</p>
<p>They had met the man the first time on one of Mister Wang’s warehouses and now were to meet him at another location. The road Jackson took was the one Kunpimook and his mother took to visit the Donghwasa temple, and he closed his eyes to stop himself from thinking about the finality of what he was doing.</p>
<p>“The temple I go with ma is this way, too”, he said, just to fill the silence.</p>
<p>“We’ve got time, do you wanna go there?”</p>
<p>It was so like Jackson to offer something like visiting a temple on the way to meet a slave trader that Kunpimook smiled, but said no.</p>
<p>For the first time in his life, he had car sickness, and Jackson held him while he shook and thew up on the side of the road, gave him a piece of gum, stroked his hair until he stopped quivering. He didn't know what he was going to do without Jackson, and then, more than ever, he felt the unwavering gratitude he had and the never-ending sadness for not loving his hyung the way he deserved.</p>
<p>When they turned into a side street approaching the warehouse, Jackson was grinding his teeth, but steady. They were over an hour early, and Kunpimook thought they deserved that time to say their goodbyes.</p>
<p>They shared one last cigarette, one last hug. Kunpimook was shaking again, but that was alright, someone being sold as a slave shouldn't look too calm. Jackson held his hand like it was a lifeline.</p>
<p>“Hyung, you’ve got to promise me something.”</p>
<p>“Anything.”</p>
<p>“Yugyeom-ah is too clever, he’s gonna come asking. It don’t matter if it’s tomorrow or in ten years, you can’t tell him ‘bout what I did. Not ‘bout what’s happening now, not about when I was a rent boy.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Do you promise?”</p>
<p>“I promise, Bammie-ah.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“I don’t wanna think about what will happen to—”, said Jackson when they were about to step out of the car.</p>
<p>“Then don’t.”</p>
<p>“But I hope—”</p>
<p>“Don’t, Sonnie. Don’t torture yourself over this, please.”</p>
<p>Jackson shook his head and went around to open his door.</p>
<p>The man was awaiting a few paces away and immediately closed a metal ring around Kunpimook’s neck with a padlock. A temporary slave’s collar. He’d seen a collar like that only once and expected it to be heavier, but thinking about it and feeling the pressure on his collarbones he realised the collar wasn't about hurting but about letting the world know it contained what was no longer a person.</p>
<p>Jackson had a straight face all the time, his eyes abnormally stony. They couldn't hug or truly say goodbye, and Kunpimook felt extraordinarily cold, an iron claw closing around his throat that had nothing to do with the collar, but he didn't cry. The last thing he saw, padlock on his neck, cuffed to a car seat, was Jackson dragging his hand through his silky blond hair and pressing his lips together to avoid crying.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p>
  <strong>JACKSON</strong>
</p><hr/>
<p>Silence felt different on different places, Jackson had realised once. Silence on a temple was huge and empty, unlike the silence at funerals, heavy and full of unsaid words.</p>
<p>Jackson wasn’t religious when he was younger. His father didn't care for faith or gods, and he’d made no memories related to religion while growing up. His friends had religious parents, specially Kunpimook with his mother who took him to the temple festivals and with such brightness inside him that could only come from some sort of deity.</p>
<p>The sun had not yet set, but the heavy clouds made the light dimmer, and when the first drops of rain fell, Jackson welcomed them, let them cool his skin and make up for the tears he couldn’t spill.</p>
<p>He wondered if Yugyeom liked this place because for brothers Yugyeom and Kunpimook were startlingly different. Jackson remembered how much he adored being with Kunpimook, the restless energy, always moving, always searching for something, a force of nature on himself to be protected and cherished. Kunpimook was also practical to his last hair, a natural-born problem solver, and Jackson had seen him get away with so much, not because he was manipulative, exactly, but because his brain could work all the possibilities and choose the easiest, the safest, or the most lucrative. Jackson had loved him for it, still loved him for it. But he hated what had come from it.</p>
<p>Every time he thought about Kunpimook, all he could feel was the never-ending regret of not doing the right thing, of not trying <em>hard</em> enough, the thought of how if it weren't for him maybe Kunpimook would still be with them overpowered most of his memories. He knew he was the only person who could've stopped Kunpimook, but back then he was blind, despite being Kunpimook's best friend. He should’ve seen the real tragedy, and on some level, he saw but didn't acknowledge.</p>
<p>His shoes were soaked and made a disgusting noise when he walked further down Donghwasa temple’s patio, now empty because of the rain, the other visitors dispersing to the cafeteria or the parking lot for cover. Jackson enjoyed the hot pavement turning lukewarm, the silence even emptier. If he knew, he would've come here before, maybe brought Yugyeom with him, it would surely bring them both some peace of mind, visiting the temple Kunpimook always said was his favourite place in the world.</p>
<p>It had been raining too, in March of the last year, when Kunpimook called him and asked to be picked up by the bar behind the old factory. By the time Jackson reached him, the rain had gotten stronger and Kunpimook’s hair was plastered to his skin, his full lips purple. March wasn't a month made for standing around wearing a hood, but that was all the boy had.</p>
<p>The cold had been worse in November when Jackson passed through the prostitution zone one night and Kunpimook was there, wearing tight clothes and bold makeup, batting his lashes, and showing his cute smile to every passer-by. He’d been shocked to see Jackson, said “go home, hyung”, but Jackson had dragged him to the car and drove him home whilst ignoring his shrill rage. They hadn't spoken for two weeks, after that. Jackson had no qualms admitting he had been gullible when Kunpimook came back saying “sorry hyung, I won’t do it again”, but back then he had not yet found out about Kunpimook's inordinate ability to lie.</p>
<p>Most people, upon meeting Kunpimook, would immediately describe him as <em>cute</em>. He had the eyes of a kitten, mushy cheeks and a slight lisp that gave an adorable tilt to his speech. Jackson thought he was cute, too, most of the time. When he was being the silly youngster among their friends and when he flung himself on the floor laughing. When he gave a soft smile and hugged Jackson to thank him, calling him Sonnie-hyung.</p>
<p>For years, Jackson believed that was all Kunpimook was: a sweet boy who cared about his family over everything, an energetic and fun friend, a nice guy overpowered by poverty but full of hopes and determination. Jackson, who grew up in a bad neighbourhood, but had everything money could buy, never understood desperation, never fathomed the sweet call of money for those who had nothing, and he only found out about those things when he saw his cute Bammie smirk and say “<em>Fucking ain't dangerous if you wear a condom</em>”<em>.</em></p>
<p>As a hyung, he should've seen the danger underlying Kunpimook's way of thinking, but… in the end, all he had were his “maybes” and the absence of the person he loved the most, now gone forever. His days were emptiness, and his nights were restlessness, except when Yugyeom was with him, and Jackson couldn't forgive himself for that, too. Yugyeom was supposed to be left untouched, innocent in the ways Kunpimook had never been allowed to be, and every time Jackson saw him with a cigarette between his lips and mirth in his eyes, he felt like a failure to Kunpimook’s memory, and could no longer lie to himself and pretend not to see how the boy was growing up and seamlessly merging with his surroundings, with his school full of drug addicts and young criminals, with the dirty streets, with Jackson’s apartment with a cigarette pack on the coffee table and gun cartridges on the closet.</p>
<p>So much pain. All to no avail, even though nine days before Jackson had finally put the laundered money on a bank account and sent the account details to Kunpimook's mother, anonymously.</p>
<p>He dropped to his knees on the stairs to the main worship hall, the stone digging into his skin and making him so awfully conscious of himself. Water was cascading down the steps, surrounding him, soaking his clothes, washing away the summer heat, the dust, and his pride. He begged the heavens to help him let go of his anger and his suffering, to lift off his shoulders the weight of all the secrets and lies.</p>
<p>He begged the heavens to give him light.</p>
<p>He begged the heavens, but the only reply was the thunders from the storming sky.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It was still raining when Jackson got back home, and the little he had managed do dry himself with the car heating was lost on the crossing between the parking lot and his building. Little rivulets of water run down his neck and back, making him shiver and crave for a hot shower and his bed, because even if he had nightmares, at least he’d be warm. It would also make him think of Bammie, but for a while now his mind had started to feel clearer, less riddled with guilt. The storm was so noisy he couldn't hear his thoughts, and when he stepped into his flat, ranking his fingers through his hair to gather how wet it was and blinking the rain out of his lashes, the lights were on. He frowned, startled, but then saw Yugyeom on the couch and his face relaxed into a smile.</p>
<p>“Hyung”, the boy greeted without rising to his feet, on his usual sombre fashion. Jackson often wondered how Yugyeom was before Kunpimook disappeared; if he had always been so serious and grave, looked so much older than his not yet complete nineteen years.</p>
<p>“Happy to see you found the spare key just fine, Yugyeom-ah.”, he admonished, but softly. Yugyeom knew where his key was, under the fire hydrant at the end of the hall but had never used it until now. That could only mean trouble. Yugyeom always meant trouble, from the moment he called hours after Kunpimook was taken, asking if Jackson had seen his brother that day. “How’re things at home?”</p>
<p>“Fine, hyung.”</p>
<p>“You’re alright, then?”</p>
<p>“Not— not really.”</p>
<p>Jackson frowned. <em>Not really</em> was one of Kunpimook's trademark phrases, and he’d never seen Yugyeom use it. It was awfully disturbing.</p>
<p>“What happened?” he asked, and sat down beside the boy, reaching for the lighter and the half-finished Camels pack on the coffee table. Yugyeom's hair was messy and windblown, but not wet. He’d been waiting for hours, then.</p>
<p>“Where did you go, today?”, Yugyeom asked, instead.</p>
<p>“Small trip.”</p>
<p>“Business trip?”</p>
<p>“More like personal”, he sighed, clicking the lighter and staring at the flame to avoid Yugyeom’s eyes.</p>
<p>After that, Yugyeom was silent for a while, the crease on his forehead getting steadily deeper.</p>
<p>“Did you see him?”, he asked all of the sudden, and Jackson’s confusion must have shown on his face, because he clarified, “Did you see my brother?”</p>
<p>Jackson shook his head.</p>
<p>“Yugyeom-ah, I dunno where Kunpimookie went. If I knew I’d be out after him.”</p>
<p>“But you know <em>something</em>. What is it, hyung? You can tell me, I won’t rattle.”</p>
<p>“Gyeom-ah, what happened?”</p>
<p>“I know you know more than you tell, Jackson-hyung. But I'm almost of age now, right? I have the right to know, too.” Jackson’s blood ran cold. He knew Yugyeom, had been close with him for nearly a year, he knew the boy wasn't flying blind, he was too clever, too observant, to say something like that carelessly. And Jackson knew too much. “Mum told me yesterday we are moving out of here.”</p>
<p>“Really?”, Jackson smiled genuinely, pushing down the fear. “How come? She must be happy.”</p>
<p>“She is. She didn't want to tell me how, but eventually, she let slip we got some money from someone who stayed anonymous. I think she doesn't want to raise her hopes, but we think it can be Kunpimook-hyung helping us.” The way he spoke made Jackson’s heart constrict in his chest. It was Kunpimook helping them, indeed, but not on the way they wanted. “That’s why I'm asking, hyung! You know where he went, so do you know how did he get the money? Do you know when he is coming back?”</p>
<p>Jackson rubbed a hand on his face, his feelings getting messier by the second. He couldn't tell Yugyeom anything, he remembered his promise to keep quiet all too well, but he couldn't let the boy go on with his fruitless hope.</p>
<p>“Kunpimook-ah ain’t coming back, Gyeom”, he said, caving, and Yugyeom turned to him, slowly.</p>
<p>Something in his eyes should have clued Jackson about his intentions, but in the end, he was equally blind for the both of them, Yugyeom and Kunpimook.</p>
<p>“And how do you know it for sure?”</p>
<p>“I—”, he stopped, mouth firmly closed, facing Yugyeom.</p>
<p>“What did you and hyung talk about when he spent the night here, uh?” Yugyeom's eyebrows drew closer. “Did you ever ask what was hyung doing when he went home so late every day?”</p>
<p>“You asked me ‘bout that before, but I know the same as you.”</p>
<p>“I can tell when you're lying, Jackson. You raise your voice and pull on your hair.”</p>
<p>Jackson let go of his hair and let down his hand, slowly. He always did things on impulse, had refined his gut feeling to the point of being professionally known as unpredictable but efficient. But for once, he couldn't trust himself, not if Yugyeom was seeing through him. Yugyeom kept waiting, sitting at the edge of the sofa, his long legs spread on the floor, and he was so different from small and thin Kunpimook. Jackson’s eyes travelled around, landed on the coffee table, on the ashes on the ashtray, evidence of a habit he had never truly accepted on Kunpimook, but didn't care as much on Yugyeom. He was so unfair.</p>
<p>“I canna tell you,” he confessed, playing with his lighter. “I promised him I woulda never tell anyone.”</p>
<p>“Were you in love with him?”</p>
<p>“I still am, but pretty sure you realised that already.”</p>
<p>“What did you do to him?”</p>
<p>Jackson stood up and looked at the boy, both of them stone-faced and pale. Jackson was still soaked in rainwater, and his clothes were sticking uncomfortably to his skin.</p>
<p>“I never, I mean <em>never</em>, did anything to him. I love him, he didn't love me the same, we still liked being together, ‘cos we cared for each other. We never did anything, all we did was— I dunno, we could never agree on anything, but Kunpimook had a way of making me bend backwards. I promised I was gonna help him, and he made me swear I’d never tell anyone anything, especially not you. He knew the police wouldn't do much.”</p>
<p>“It makes no sense.”</p>
<p>“It’s what I told him, but he never listened. You knew him too; you know how he was like.”</p>
<p>“STOP TALKING ABOUT HYUNG IN THE PAST,” Yugyeom yelled out of the blue and Jackson flinched.</p>
<p>“He ain’t coming ba—”</p>
<p>“He always listened to me, we were <em>close</em>, Jackson, closer than you, apparently. It doesn’t make any sense.”</p>
<p>“That’s all I know, Yugyeom,” belatedly, he realised they were dropping the honorifics, and that his hands were trembling. “What do you wanna me to say?”</p>
<p>“I want you”, Yugyeom raised to his feet, his impressive height making him tower over Jackson, “to tell me what you did to him.”</p>
<p>“I never hurt him. I didn't force him to anything. And I didn't kill him if this what you're hinting at.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom pressed his eyes closed, apparently exasperated. Jackson had no idea what to do because he wanted the truth, something Jackson couldn't give him. Yugyeom paced, once, twice, then raised his shirt and pulled a gun from his waistband. Jackson felt his blood go cold and stepped back, thinking of his prayers earlier at the temple on what felt like another life. Yugyeom cocked the gun and grabbed Jackson’s arm, pulling him closer and pressing the barrel against his chest. His eyes watched the gun on Yugyeom’s surprisingly steady grip, but his mind was elsewhere, racing.</p>
<p>He thought of the noise of the storm outside, of the look on Kunpimook’s eyes when they last saw each other, of the droplets of water sliding down his neck, of his own mother’s voice, of the rumbling sound of thunder, of Kunpimook’s cold hand holding his. He felt an overwhelming sense of dread, not from fear of dying, but from how disappointed Kunpimook would be if he allowed Yugyeom to become a murderer, to wreck himself to that extent, all because of them. All because of Jackson.</p>
<p>“Yugyeom-ah, you know killing me ain’t gonna bring Kunpimookie back.”</p>
<p>“Unfortunately, I can’t trade a life for another, and even so, hyung’s life is worth much more than yours.”</p>
<p>“Then, why? Why do this to yourself? All for nothing? My dead body ain’t gonna give you any answers.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom seemed deep in thought for a moment but his grip on the gun didn't falter. Thunder rolled outside and lightning drew eerie shapes on his face.</p>
<p>“I'm tired of your lies, Jackson. Your secrets, your silences. Do you think I don’t notice? He was <em>my</em> brother.” Jackson kept quiet, his heart beating against his eardrums. “See? Even now you're silent!”</p>
<p>“What do you wanna me to I say?” he asked again, closing his eyes. “I know you're his brother, he knew it too. I made a promise, I ain't gonna break it.”</p>
<p>“Because you <em>wanted</em> him.”</p>
<p>“Because I love him. He never loved me back, that’s true, but I love him, I always will. He asked me to keep this secret, so I’ll keep it. To the grave.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom gave him a sceptic look, twisting his mouth. Jackson flinched in reflex.</p>
<p>“You’ve no idea how I feel, Yugyeom. Every time I close my eyes, I see him, every time I go to sleep, I hear his voice. D’you think it’s easy? D’you think I don’t miss him; I don’t regret not having him here?” he took a deep breath. “Thinking that maybe if I was cleverer… if I’d tried harder… if I’d said or done something different, he’d still be here.”</p>
<p>It was like time had stopped, even the rain was silent for a moment. In that dead time, anything could happen, and Jackson seized it, summing up all his practice to grab the gun from Yugyeom's grip. He felt a rush of adrenaline, and for a second it was like all the heaviness he felt on his chest for over a year had vanished, making him lightheaded. He could be free falling on the sky when he turned the gun around in his hands and pressed the barrel against the underside of his own chin.</p>
<p>“I love him, Gyeom, but it ain’t gonna change anything,” he said and smiled, a mirror of Kunpimook's usual sad but genuine smile.</p>
<p>“Jackson, what—”</p>
<p>“Maybe you don’t get it, but…”</p>
<p>“Hyung…” Yugyeom's eyes were wide, reflecting Jackson’s ghostly face on their dark surface.</p>
<p>“Bammie did it to protect you. Don’t forget, you—”</p>
<p>“JACKSON.”</p>
<p><em>“You have to survive.”</em> He breathed out and cocked the gun again.</p>
<p>The very last thing Jackson saw was Yugyeom's young and terrified face, drained of colour with his eyes darker than ever, before he closed his own eyes tight and pulled the trigger, letting light wash over him.</p>
<p>“HYUNG!”</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p>
  <strong>YUGYEOM</strong>
</p><hr/>
<p>Jackson was buried on a Thursday, the storm long gone and leaving the earth green and fresh, but the cemetery on their neighbourhood was so old and dilapidated the blooming of nature made no difference. Yugyeom sat beside Jungkook, who wouldn't stop biting his nails, and watched the coffin be laid on the dirt. There was no religious ceremony, and Jackson was now resting with his mother. Yugyeom's mother didn't attend but understood when he told her he was going. Yugyeom had never genuinely liked Jackson’s character, not because Mister Wang had killed his father — who had been a dumb and weak man, in his own opinion — but because Jackson had a mellow-hungry way of looking at Kunpimook that always unsettled him.</p>
<p>Mister Wang was a pitiful sight, sobbing with no shame, all his dignity buried with his family in that barren ground, his face contorted with grief when he threw his arms around the coffin before it went down. Jooheon was the only of Jackson’s friends to approach him. Jooheon also stayed behind when people started to leave, Mister Wang’s men supporting his trembling figure, Jungkook walking away silently with his thumb bleeding. Yugyeom briefly noticed a girl who was lagging and looking at him, but Changkyun’s arrival distracted him and the girl went away when he wasn’t paying attention.</p>
<p>The older boys had their eyes bloodshot and lost, but no tears had been shed by them. Yugyeom, Jooheon and Changkyun, stood, unable to go home or look away until a while later Namjoon came back with a can of spray paint. The whole graveyard was covered in graffiti, profanities and prayers roughly drawn with colours stark against the ageing stone. Namjoon crouched in front of Jackson’s tombstone, shook the can, and wrote in capital letters, in Jackson’s native English:</p>
<p>
  <strong>SURVIVE</strong>
</p>
<p>Yugyeom swallowed the word, hearing it inside his head with Jackson’s voice, feeling them burn his throat, forcing up resentment mixed up with bile. He had to survive. He had to survive, even when they all seemed to be dying one at a time, like a strange ritual of brotherhood.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He and his mother moved out the next day. Later, when he picked up the phone after hours on the moving truck and putting boxes inside their new huge flat downtown there was a text from Changkyun, asking if he’d seen Jungkook, and Yugyeom said no, he hadn't.  That was the last he heard from any of them.</p>
<p>His mother’s lawyer got him on a trial exam for a fancy secondary school for his last year, and when the winter after the next went away, he had a beautiful diploma with his name on it, a picture of him wearing his pristine uniform, and an acceptance letter from a university in Seoul. On the graduation ceremony, his mother came wearing one of her best dresses — which complimented her still young body — with her hair and makeup perfectly done, face glowing with a professionally whitened but sincere smile.</p>
<p>“I’m so happy for you, Gyeom-ah,” she said, hugging him and making him feel young again, despite their height difference. He knew he was losing her, had been ever since his father was killed. But he didn’t resent her, not like he resented Kunpimook. “I’m proud of how you kept going, never mind all the bad things that happened, and now you're here, all grown up…”</p>
<p>“Thank you, mama”, he said, nodding. “I’m glad”, he said. <em>To survive</em>, he thought.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The whole story is already written and I intend to post a chapter every week just so I have the time to proofread them once again at a decent pace — they're all quite long.</p>
<p>Hope you're enjoying the read so far, and if you can, please leave a comment! 💚</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Undercover Acquaintances</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Things are about to kick in! Thanks for everyone who left kudos, bookmarks and comments so far, I'm really glad for the feedback 💚</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <strong>YUGYEOM</strong>
</p><hr/><p>It’s been years since Yugyeom gave up trying to understand why he enjoys doing what is labelled “wrong”. He’s also given up trying to understand why those things don’t feel bad at all for him. And he knows that from a moral point of view, a big part of what he does on a daily basis is wrong, but he continues not to give a fuck, shrugging his jacket on as he walks out of Jimin’s apartment, leaving her asleep inside.</p><p>From the moment Yugyeom stepped foot in university he got a bit of a reputation, because even though he didn’t care much, the girls swooned and run after him, and it got everyone scratching their heads and contemplating if he was gay or just shy. In fact, he was neither, only disinterested, because rich girls with perfect manicures and flowing hair were a far cry from his type — not that he <em>actually</em> knew what his type was, back then. The thing Yugyeom knew for sure was that he was good at unsettling people with his constantly blank face. And even with <em>that</em> not giving him any kind of reputation, and with his lack of interest on making friends, one of his seniors befriended him and pulled him to his circle of older, richer, and smarter people.</p><p>Junhong-hyung is only one year older than him — slightly younger than Kunpimook would be — and somehow taller than him, his long body also bulkier than Yugyeom’s, but he never patronises. They talked, exchanged lecture notes and phone numbers, hung out together on their own and with the rest of their group, and between bar nights and clubs, Junhong taught Yugyeom how to play poker. Yugyeom picked up he was a professional player looking for a partner, so he went along voluntarily, trying his hand at greasy bar tables at first, then at cornered gambling houses, until they started venturing the downtown casinos.</p><p>Yugyeom’s father had been a gambler and lost his life to it, but despite his young age, Yugyeom already knew one thing he probably didn't: he couldn’t outsmart people. He’d learnt it the hard way, when Kunpimook — modest, simple Kunpimook — had left him behind, and when dumb and reckless Jackson Wang had beat him in a second. Systems and rules, on the other hand, could be easily outsmarted, as he had proven with his university admission exam and the perfect grades he achieved not by cheating, but by deducing what <em>exactly</em> that scoring system wanted him to say or do.</p><p>The casinos were a mess of bright lights, hot bodies, colourful games, and dollar bills; they were full of all kinds of people, but the system never changed. There, he met a member of Junhong’s clique that didn't attend their university, and he knew something was changing the moment his eyes met hers. Later she pulled him aside, cocktail glass in her hand, dark lipstick making her look older than her real age, the same as Junhong’s, and introduced herself as Jimin.</p><p>“Are you from Daegu?” she asked, and Yugyeom nodded. “Has an older brother, by any chance?” He looked at her blankly, and she raised her eyebrows, exasperated. “Are you Kunpimook-ah’s brother?”</p><p>Thinking back, he supposes he should have been startled, but he knew he’d seen her before, so he nodded again and watched as Jimin’s eyes got tenfold sadder.</p><p>“How did you know him?” he asked.</p><p>“We were the same age, same crowd, you know how it is…” she trailed off, sipping on her drink. “Last time I saw you was at Jackson-oppa’s funeral, you grew up a lot.”</p><p>“I remember you there,” he said, and it was her turn to nod.</p><p>“I wanted to talk to you, but the time wasn't right.”</p><p>From then on, he doesn’t know exactly what he is looking for, but he trails after her, charms all her friends to make up to his noona wrecker reputation, stays back with her when Junhong gets his fill of money and danger and heads off somewhere. Jimin never says much, just laughs and accepts his arm for support when she gets too drunk off the cocktails people love to pay for her.</p><p>But the first time they fuck, they’re both stone-cold sober and a bit surprised at each other’s courage. There is a past between them, unspoken and off-limits because after the night they met they never mentioned Daegu, Kunpimook or Jackson. They turn into routine, Yugyeom sleeping at her tiny apartment for most of the week, taking her around on his car — a consolation gift from his mother before she moved back to Thailand — and she sits on his lap when he’s playing.</p><p>They make a good duo, Jimin’s no-nonsense attitude complementing his personality, and have a lot of fun together, but they don’t name their relationship, don’t talk beyond the present, even as years stretch by and they’re still seeing each other sporadically. And he knows that’s wrong, they both do, but neither can find it in themselves to care.</p><p>*</p><p>Their casino stunt bears fruits rather fast. They make money, make a name, and Junhong soon enough starts disappearing more often into the closed rooms on the back, guided by a short man with a sharp face. When Junhong’s graduation arrives, his family doesn't attend — they’re all long dead — but Sharp Face shows up escorting a sturdy man wearing an expensive suit and they’re introduced as Moon Jongup and Bang Himchan.</p><p>“Jongup-hyung you’ve probably seen around,” Junhong says later after they’ve left, “and Himchan-hyung is the casino owner and Bang-nim’s husband.”</p><p>Yugyeom grew up surrounded by criminals, petty thieves and drug dealers but had never met a mob boss in the flesh. When he arrives in Seoul, is to the realisation the city is <em>run</em> by mobs, all the big business somehow related to one of those invisible people only referred to by their surnames and honorifics, until one of them slips and flees the country on a hurry or gets murdered in a shootout in the middle of a road, leaving behind a media storm that serves to delude the population into thinking the police can do anything about it at this point.</p><p>Junhong is adopted by Himchan’s husband a while later, and by the time Yugyeom graduates from law school, he only sees his hyung sporadically when he shows up driving a car worth three times their tuition. Yugyeom's mother can’t attend his graduation, because she’s pregnant and the flight from New York to Seoul is too long, but Junhong — Zelo, as he is being called these days — and Jongup attend, Jimin promising to go but not showing up after all, so even though Yugyeom has an important appointment with his two hyungs the next morning, he goes to her flat after the ceremony.</p><p>Jimin has bold lips and bolder eyes, and he’s sure he’ll miss her when they stop seeing each other. He spends the night with her, and when he leaves in the morning, there isn't an ounce of resentment in his chest.</p><p>*</p><p>For such an insufferable know-it-all and successful mob underboss, Junhong is quite bad at driving, and after he tries and fails three times to parallel park, Yugyeom loses it and demands to drive.</p><p>“What? I can’t park, big deal.”</p><p>“Hyung, you can’t drive decently to save your <em>life</em>, just hire someone to do it for you.”</p><p>“Are you offering yourself for the job?” Zelo smiles his cutely deranged smile, “C’mon, don’t act up or I won’t help you.”</p><p>Yugyeom raises an eyebrow and parks the car, ignoring his hyung’s sulk to mentally recite the list of instructions Junhong’s been rattling for the past few weeks. Outside, Junhong grabs his arm and gives him a genuine smile.</p><p>“If you get in, I think you’ll make it big.” He says, and Yugyeom smiles back.</p><p>They’re back at the casino but walking through one of the back entrances and going straight for a marble lobby and the elevator heading to Himchan’s office on the top floor, because Junhong has heard of a good position for a trusty lawyer on one of Bang-nim’s associates’ house. Mob bosses like to call their “companies” houses because their top employees do live with them in huge mansions on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by security men. Bang-nim is no different, but Yugyeom has never been to their house, only the casino and some of their hotels.</p><p>He expected Himchan to be reticent and dubious, but as soon as Junhong suggests sending Yugyeom over to this other boss’s house he jumps aboard and calls someone named Youngjae, as well as another person with the strange name of Peniel. Youngjae arrives first, a short-ish man with doll eyes and one of the prettiest lips Yugyeom’s ever seen, decked in a suit even fancier than Himchan’s and waving off the drink Himchan’s assistant pours him as he sits on the corner of the desk. Junhong whispers that this is Bang-nim’s personal lawyer, and in any other position he’d look out of place and too extravagant, but in this family, he fits right in, because they’re all kind of extravagant in their own ways.</p><p>He introduces himself as Yoo Youngjae, doesn't mention his age, and doesn't wait for the Peniel guy to show up. He raises an eyebrow when Junhong tells him their plan.</p><p>“Park-nim’s house is full of snakes, good luck in there, boy. Who's he working for?”</p><p>“We don’t know if they’ll take Yugyeom-ah, yet, and it’s for Mark-ssi.”</p><p>“Oh, handsome and vicious Mark Tuan. I miss him,” sighs Youngjae, and Yugyeom wants to ask exactly what <em>vicious</em> means in this context, but Himchan chuckles.</p><p>“I heard a lie…” he snorts, and Youngjae pouts, feigning offence.</p><p>“I’m fairly sure that with a letter from me and Himchan-hyung’s recommendation our Yugyeomie will get right in. Who are we sending him through?”</p><p>“Peniel-ssi.”</p><p>“Billiards?” Youngjae asks, grinning.</p><p>“When are you going to stop calling him that? Let the poor man live.”</p><p>“Not my fault he got drunk in front of me and offered his bald head as a billiards ball. But I guess you’re right, he’s Mark-hyung’s strong man, way better than that dickhead Im Jaebeom.”</p><p>“You're only calling him a dickhead because his dick was fucking another arse while dating yours.” Himchan fires back, and by then Junhong is barely holding a laughing fit, while Yugyeom watches and wonders if life in the mob is only made out of guns, money and gossip. Sounds awfully like a twisted bad soap opera.</p><p>Someone — who he assumes to be Peniel, judging by the infamous bald head — walks in just then, and immediately zeroes on Youngjae.</p><p>“Were you bad-mouthing Jaebeom-ssi? Because no one is falling for that no more, we all know you guys are still friends, even if god forbid Jinyoung-ah knows about it.”</p><p>“Stop bullying me and talk business,” mumbles Youngjae while Peniel greets everyone in the room, stopping to kiss Himchan’s hand. “Is Mark-hyung still hiring?”</p><p>“Yes, you wanna offer this young fella here?” he asks, pointing at Yugyeom, who nods. “You any good at anything, kid?”</p><p>“Just finished law school, I was Junhong-hyung’s junior.”</p><p>“Anything else?”</p><p>“I speak English and I’m good with guns?”, he tries to say evenly but even to himself, he sounds a little unsure and quite sarcastic.</p><p>“How good?”</p><p>“Never tried in action, it’s just a hobby.”</p><p>Peniel smiles an easy and crooked smile, shakes Yugyeom’s shoulder affectionately.</p><p>“Ooh, a <em>hobby</em>! I think you and Mark-ssi will get along just fine, really,” he says, and Yugyeom hears someone on the background whisper something that sounds a lot like <em>send along some good powder to make him softer</em>. The bad soap opera feeling starts to fade, then.</p><p>*</p><p>Two days later he meets Peniel on the parking lot of a grocery store. Yugyeom leaves his car parked there and spends the twenty-minute drive on the passenger seat pretending he’s not memorising the route they’re taking. They arrive at a gated estate, but Peniel drives away from the huge main gate until they reach a smaller entrance, just as heavily guarded as the first. When they park, one of the men is called over and Peniel tells him to take Yugyeom to the annexe.</p><p>Yugyeom has a vague idea of what an annexe might be, but it turns out to be nothing like he imagined. It’s a two-storey house carved into the mountainside with its own driveway, separated from what seems to be the main house by a large garden. There’s a man at the front steps, dressed in a clearly expensive suit — everyone seems to own a hundred fancy suits in this world — and his face has a sort of melancholic beauty but when he smiles, he shows too-pointy canines.</p><p>“Welcome, Yugyeom-ssi.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir.”</p><p>“I’m Mark Tuan,” his smile gets bigger, “come on in.”</p><p>They walk inside, and the security guard goes away. The house has a spacious lobby with large windows and a staircase to the right. Mark leads them to the first door to the left and opens it to reveal something between an office and a sitting room.</p><p>“Take a seat.” He gestures to an armchair next to a bookcase. The place is beautiful, richly decorated with expensive furniture, Mark has an elegant accent and sits like a gentleman, but the overall scene gives out a feeling of a wild beast waiting for its prey. “See, like Himchan-hyung probably told you, I need an assistant… but I never had one before,” he shuffles some papers on the table to his left, “I'm a bit in the dark here.”</p><p>It’s a trap. He’s waiting for Yugyeom to start trying to eagerly sell himself off, like at an ordinary job interview. Yugyeom stays silent. Mark nods once.</p><p>“You are friends with Bang-nim’s kid, right?”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>“Have you ever worked for them?”</p><p>“No, sir. I attended college along Zelo-hyung. He was my senior.”</p><p>“Do you smoke? How do you take your coffee?”</p><p>Yugyeom suppresses a frown and pretends to be unperturbed by the weird question.</p><p>“I do. And black, no sugar, no cream.”</p><p>“Any family?”</p><p>“Just a mother, she lives overseas.”</p><p>“Social media?”</p><p>“Only messenger.”</p><p>“Not even Facebook?”</p><p>“Uh, no.”</p><p>“You <em>are</em> twenty-three years old, right?”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>Mark shuffles his papers some more while they sit in silence. Yugyeom doesn't mind the silence, the window has a cool view of some exotic plants that keeps him entertained.</p><p>“Your father…” Mark says, still looking down and reading a file, “assassinated on the 23rd of March, twelve years ago. They never found the murderer?” his voice is so polite, Yugyeom nearly believes he genuinely cares.</p><p>“It was a local gang. He had many gambling debts.”</p><p>“And yet, you are a professional poker player.”</p><p>“As it says, I don’t gamble, I play.”</p><p>“But a kid like you, that went to some really nice schools, you clearly have money to live off, and grades and recommendations that could land you at a very good position at any law firm in the country… why risk?”</p><p>Yugyeom cocks his head to the side.</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>All Mark does is nod and pull a silver tray closer. His eyes scan the file again, then he puts it on the tray and sets it on fire with a silver lighter. Yugyeom holds back a smile because he has an identical lighter of his own.</p><p>“I have your phone number,” Mark says, without looking up. “Peniel-ssi will be waiting for you by the door.”</p><p>Clearly dismissed, Yugyeom stands up and bows, and doesn't look back while leaving the room.</p><p>*</p><p>The next time he arrives at the estate is ten days later, on his own car, after receiving a call from Mark. He’s wearing his best suit and his most expensive wristwatch because he knows for sure that today he’s coming back to meet the boss. He is not wrong, although it’s Mark who greets him at the gates, and soon he’s being led into the main house, through a low ceiling portico that opens into a huge hall full of light and with a ridiculously high roof, then up the stairs to arrive at the boss’s office on the first floor.</p><p>For someone around fifty Park-nim is surprisingly good-looking. Yugyeom imagined him to be one of those hard-shelled criminals with rough eyes and a crooked nose, marks of violence all over his features; but he has elegant hands, sharp eyes, a nose surgically done and high cheekbones to put younger men to shame. He stands up to shake Yugyeom’s hand, pats Mark’s shoulder as he leaves, and orders coffee to a servant standing by the corner. At his office, there are no coffee tables and stacks of paper, like at Mark’s, and Yugyeom is led to a chair directly opposite to the one Park-nim sits, a sleek mahogany desk that suits the clean deco between them.</p><p>“I like the fine line you toe, Yugyeom-ssi,” Park-nim says bluntly. “High-end education but a gambler for a father. Successful law student but professional poker player. Gorgeous grades but likes guns for a hobby. In here, we don’t sell drugs, nor guns, nor run slave auction houses or any of that. We influence. Do you understand me?”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>“We still snort coke, have our handguns and house slaves, but my coke and my slaves serve congressmen and industrialists and diplomats and foreigner princes at my parties. Mark-ssi believes you will be able to handle that, and as much as I trust his judgement, I'm not willing to risk trial and error.” His message is delivered smooth and clear, Yugyeom being warned that whether he likes the terms that are about to be laid out, he can’t say no. Is exactly what Junhong warned him about when they first talked about it.</p><p>The servant, a young woman with remarkable eyes, comes back with the coffee and proceeds to serve both of them in absolute silence. When Yugyeom opens his mouth to tell her not to pour sugar, she raises her head and nods, as if reading his mind, handing him a cup of black coffee.</p><p>“Thank you, Jihyo,” Park-nim says, and she walks out.</p><p>They sip in silence, Park-nim placidly observing him over the rim of his cup. For most people, that would probably feel alarming, make them feel self-conscious and insecure, but Yugyeom feels nothing. The coffee is good, so he’s actually enjoying it. Those people can’t be outsmarted, but they are exciting to play with.</p><p>“Sir, before we get to the paperwork, I want to ask you something, if it wouldn't be inconvenient.”</p><p>“Go ahead.”</p><p>“Can I smoke in the house?”, he says, face blank. Park-nim bursts out laughing, perfect teeth on show while he throws his head back.</p><p>“Yes, Yugyeom-ssi, you can smoke everywhere except the kitchen, and of course, if you are at someone else’s rooms you must ask. But the other rooms are alright.”</p><p>“Even your office?”</p><p>“Yes, even in my office. What do you smoke?”</p><p>“Camels,” Yugyeom says, and the boss raises his eyebrows, amused.</p><p>“You might even get a discount; we work with the guy who brings them from America. Good taste for a man.”</p><p>Yugyeom nods, the last of his apprehension gone.</p><p>“Now, about the job. You will work mainly with Mark-ssi, and there’s an apartment prepared for you near his rooms, at the annexe, because he prefers to work from home instead of at the office in the business district,” the boss continues, and Yugyeom groans internally thinking about moving all his stuff across the city. “As your job is revising his files and doing his homework, you’ll spend most of your time indoors and, I believe, become quite familiar with the house staff and with our other residents.” Park-nim flashes a pleasant smile, another weird trait for a mob boss, but he <em>is</em> known as a white-collar, and it fits his pristine silk-blend shirt and gold Rolex.</p><p>Yugyeom doesn't mind living in the mansion, because he’s done with the student district with its filthy streets and noisy neighbours, and he <em>really</em> wants a new car, so not paying rent will be amazing, as well as not waking up every day at arse o’clock to drive to work.</p><p>“The staff lives in the propriety but not really in here,” Park-nim resumes talking, “in the main house is my nephew, Jinyoung-ssi, and his fiancé, Jaebeom-ssi, who is also my head of security. As you know, Mark-ssi lives at the annexe, where you’ll live as well. I am at the penthouse. And my—” he is interrupted as the door behind Yugyeom opens with a click and Park-nim smiles again even if his eyes don’t leave Yugyeom, who doesn't dare to turn around and look at whoever came in. “… and my Bambam is on the second floor.” He finishes, putting a hand forward. “Sugar, this is Mark’s new assistant, Kim Yugyeom.”</p><p>The person finally appears on Yugyeom’s line of sight, and he first registers the long and thin legs, the glinting Rolex that matches the boss’s and the Gucci jacket identical to the one he’d seen Junhong-hyung lust after the week prior. Then he looks at the face, and maybe it’s the silver hair or the makeup, but it takes him a millisecond to realise <em>he knows that face</em>.</p><p>A face so unmoving that could belong to a statue, but in reality, belongs to his brother, Kunpimook, who undoubtedly is the person looking right back at him. He hopes his expression doesn't showcase his shock, but from Park-nim’s attitude he reckons it doesn't, so he looks forward and tries to focus. If he was sure of the job before, now he’s determined to have it. And, somehow, Kunpimook still has the nerve to bow and introduce himself in an even voice that sounds like a dream and also like the worst of Yugyeom's nightmares:</p><p>“Hello, I’m twenty-four-years-old Bambam.” Which is<em> a lie</em>, because Kunpimook is twenty-five already. “Glad to meet you,” there’s a small pause like he’s run out of air, “Yugyeom-ssi.”</p><p>All Yugyeom can muster is a curt nod, eyes looking elsewhere, but gladly the boss doesn't seem to mind, his own eyes glued to Kunpimook, arm outstretched to rest a proprietary hand on his lower back. It’s not sexual, but Yugyeom finally registers the possessive adjective Park-nim used to introduce Kunpimook. And along with the Rolex, the jewellery, the designer clothing, he thinks he’s figured out a bit of what is going on. He’s never <em>talked</em> to one of those, but he’s seen plenty of them, the so-called <em>companions</em>. Some people on the casinos had one on their arm, thin and expensive-looking slaves dressed like models and talking smoothly, always gravitating their owners, stroking and kissing them. He’s heard around Himchan used to be one.</p><p>“Since I'm going away again tomorrow,” Park-nim interrupts his thoughts, “and taking Jaebeom-ssi with me, I hope Bambam can do the honours and show you around the house, Yugyeom-ssi. You two are the same age, after all, I believe it will be the most comfortable arrangement.”</p><p>Involuntarily, Yugyeom looks up to see Kunpimook <em>smiling</em> and nodding. He feels like throwing up, or maybe passing out, judging by the airy feeling he has in his head.</p><p>“Hyung-nim, Yoora sent me to inform you dinner is ready,” Kunpimook says, turning to Park-nim, face unchanged, but his eyes look a bit glassy even to Yugyeom. “I’m going out to call Mark-hyung as well.”</p><p>“Of course. Yugyeom-ssi, you are welcome to eat with us, too,” Park-nim tells him, then turns to Kunpimook again. “Is everyone at home?”</p><p>“Jinyoung-ssi and Jaebeom-hyung are dining out,” he answers, making Park-nim smirk.</p><p>“Date night, I see. Fine, go call Markie, we will be downstairs in a minute.”</p><p>Kunpimook bows shallowly and walks out, and his <em>nonchalance</em>, his show of being indifferent and polite, it makes something poisonous and violent wake inside Yugyeom, and his hands itch to catch Kunpimook and slap that fake smile off his face.</p><p>“Well, Yugyeom-ssi, it’s your choice, you can read your contracts right now on this chair, or after dinner at your new apartment. I do warn you, though, that the apartment has some gorgeous sofas, and we have lobster with butter sauce tonight.” Park-nim raises his eyebrows, a suggestive smile on his lips. Yugyeom forces a chuckle.</p><p>“I think it would be rude of me to say no to the lobster,” he says, raising from his chair, the image of Kunpimook living and breathing burnt onto his retinas.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <strong>BAMBAM</strong>
</p><hr/><p>Bambam wakes up every day at five past five in the morning, brushes his teeth, washes his hair, washes until he’s as clean as a sterilising wipe, picks his clothes for the day (if they weren't chosen the day before), dabs on some concealer and BB cream, and goes downstairs at precisely six o'clock to supervise the breakfast and lunch preparations. When he comes back, his master is probably on the mood for morning sex, which is nice, but also annoying because Bambam is not a morning person so his performance gets a little mediocre. Then he has breakfast (on the penthouse if his master is home, at his own rooms if he’s not), goes out to check on Mark’s personal maid, goes back in to check on the maids’ duties for the day, does his best to avoid bumping into Jinyoung, positively runs away from Jaebeom, and sits silent and pretty through some of his master’s meetings, like an exotic decorative piece. At one in the afternoon, he has lunch (while checking social media to avoid paying attention to the conversations on the table because he’s been there for nearly six fucking years and is tired of everyone’s antics), takes his master’s coffee upstairs, maybe  has a quick fuck, then finally has time to do his own activities: shopping, swimming, yoga, an appointment with his beautician or personal trainer, whatever classes he’s taking that month until it’s time to prepare for dinner.</p><p>If they're dining at home, he has to supervise the preparation. If they're dining out, he has to doll up. And on the occasion of a party in the house, his schedule has been shot off since early morning, with the staff being too stressed and calling him over every five seconds. He loves parties because even though he has to look perfect, not a hair out of place while managing everything and everyone without even frowning, he’s completely in his element, and chaos followed by a beautiful outcome somehow appeases his bored mind.</p><p>He’s turning restless, lately, because his master has been travelling a lot and despite it meaning his schedules relax, it also means no parties and no fancy outings. Park-nim arrived from a trip to Japan just yesterday and he’s already leaving for Singapore tomorrow, and Bambam is <em>pissed off</em> they won’t even dine out because his master has to interview some boy Mark is hiring to run his errands. But he steadies his smile, breaths in and out, slowly, and walks into the main office, just to be punched in the gut the second Park-nim says the tall guy sitting on the guest’s chair’s name.</p><p>He looks at Yugyeom and doesn't even know what he wants to do. Scream bloody murder? Cry and hug him? Fling himself out of the window in hopes of dying from the fall even though they are only on the first floor? Hide under the table because he’s not suicidal? But that many years in the industry have taught him the tricks of how to look unruffled when he’s going through inner turmoil, and thankfully his master remains oblivious to the tension in the room.</p><p>Keeping his senses just enough to introduce himself mechanically, he barely registers his surroundings, only the sheer horror of not <em>knowing</em> what to do. Because there was a time Bambam felt fear, an all-consuming terror of dying, of being destructed, a time he walked on eggshells, pupils shaking every time Park-nim walked into the room, hands unstable when he had to ask Mark something, or approach Jaebeom. Nowadays, he <em>knows</em> how to handle people, how to make things the way he wants them to be, how to twist words and faces and feelings until the control of the room is his own.</p><p>But the moment he looks at Yugyeom's face, this adult and unknown version of his brother, the only thing he knows is that Yugyeom is a walking wild card, a threat to his stability, and he feels the earth beneath him disappear.</p><p>And still, he feels happy.</p><p>He savours saying Yugyeom's name; takes a breath before saying it out loud for the first time in over half a decade. It’s overwhelming, having actual permission to be around Yugyeom, and he has to forcefully tame his smile not to show too much emotion. It’s all too much, and he feels faint, with his heart making its way up his throat, and he probably sounds choked up while relaying his message to his master, but there’s nothing he can do.</p><p>He walks out of the room on a daze and gets to Mark’s rooms out of pure muscle memory, but halfway through saying “dinner is ready” he remembers this is Mark, and his game face alone won’t save him.</p><p>“Did something happen?” Mark asks, and Bambam would love to tell him the truth because Mark is his partner, like Jackson was, — and fuck, he has to talk to Yugyeom and ask him about Jackson — but like at the royal courts in the books his master likes so much, their house is a hybrid between a circus and a minefield, where the truth has no place.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You looked weird, just now.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> are weird, hyung. See you at dinner.” He feels Mark’s piercing gaze on the back of his head as he walks out but forces the paranoia to the depths of his mind and when he walks into the breakfast room they always dine in, he’s back in the clear.</p><p>Sadly, the feeling doesn’t last as the four of them sit at the table and both Mark and Yugyeom, who were supposed to be talking at least to each other, keep side glancing at him, their mouths firmly shut. Bambam focuses his attention on his master, talking lowly and touching him in a way that has become second nature.</p><p>The thing he likes most about being a companion is that after some time he didn’t have to second guess himself anymore, because he’d been serving the same person for years, and although people change, the small things that make them tick tend to stay the same, or at least swerve very subtly. He knows Park-nim likes him for the beauty and the sex, but also for the company, likes the undivided attention Bambam gives him, so he does just that and behaves like a sweet and caring servant — his master’s favourite type — because he needs all of Park-nim’s good wills for what he’s about to pull.</p><p>“Can I show Yugyeom-ssi his new rooms?” he asks as dessert is taken away, unfiltered excitement shining on his eyes, because he knows his master will credit it to his love for home design and showing his talents off.</p><p>“Go ahead, sugar.”</p><p>Yugyeom follows him with docility, but eyes ablaze, and Bambam thinks they’re going to make it to the rooms on the back of the annexe, but as they turn a corner around the hedge into the garden, he feels an iron grip on his arm.</p><p>“Are you going to quit the act and tell me what the <em>fuck</em> are you doing here?” Yugyeom asks through his teeth, fingers digging in painfully, and the fear comes rushing back up Bambam’s throat.</p><p>“Can we get inside first? I don—”</p><p>“No, we can’t, you fucker.”</p><p>Yugyeom is wearing an expensive suit, stands taller than him, even with Bambam wearing boots, and there’s a real leather wristwatch strap under his sleeve. His Daegu accent is gone, the syllables coming out smooth and clean-cut like from a Seoul-born. There are two silver rings on his right middle finger, and his shoes are also real leather. Bambam registers all of this in a millisecond, too used to evaluate people’s appearance to estimate their traits.</p><p>“Don’t talk to me like this.”</p><p>“I’m talking anyway I want to, because you’re a fucking psychopath for being alive for so long and never saying a word to us.”</p><p>“You weren't supposed to find me, Yugyeom-ah.”</p><p>“Yeah, I figured.”</p><p>Yugyeom's face contorts in what seems to be disgust, and although Bambam doesn't expect him to understand, it still hurts him, and he wants to reach out and hug his brother. Instead, he looks down and squeezes his eyes shut.</p><p>“Look at me,” Yugyeom demands, and for the first time in many years, Bambam doesn't obey an order. “I told you to look at me.”</p><p>For someone so young, there’s an extraordinary amount of authority on Yugyeom's voice, and for some reason, that in particular infuriates Bambam, so he stubbornly keeps looking at the grass, mouth setting on a line.</p><p>“You're not my master, don’t try to boss me.”</p><p>The grip on his arm gets stronger and Yugyeom shakes him roughly.</p><p>“Fuck you. Twenty-four hours ago, I’d give up everything I have to see you again, but do you know how I feel now? Betrayed.”</p><p>“Don’t say that,” he begs, and Yugyeom spits at the ground between his shoes.</p><p>“You betrayed me,” he says slowly, venom dripping from every word. “While you smiled and flirted with a criminal that enslaves you, I was left behind to suffer all these years. Did you expect me to accept you like nothing happened? Did you seriously think I wouldn’t <em>hate</em> you?”</p><p>Hate is a strong word, but Bambam doesn't doubt his brother’s feelings. That doesn't mean he’s going to let Yugyeom in on his dirty past.</p><p>“I don’t owe you”, he says, because even if the fairest route would be the truth, he’s been lying all of his life, and he can’t remember much of the actual facts and reasons, “an <em>explanation</em>. All I wanted was for you to have the opportunities that were denied to me. And you have them.”</p><p>“There was no opportunity in growing up alone and broken, hyung.”</p><p>Bambam opens his mouth to reply, but clicks it back shut when tears well up in his eyes. It’s been nearly a year since he last cried, and he’s not sure if he wants to do it in the middle of the garden and in front of Yugyeom.</p><p>“I know,” he whispers, voice thick.</p><p>“That’s all you have to say? Aren't you supposed to be sorry? Be sorry for how much pain I felt, for making me think I lost you forever? Feel sorry for all the pain you put Mother through, at least, damn it!”</p><p>Yugyeom’s voice has risen slightly, and Bambam slaps a hand on his mouth, finally looking up and pressing closer.</p><p>“I don’t feel <em>sorry</em>, because this was the least painful option for you both.” His voice is choked up with impending tears, but he comes across clear, and Yugyeom yanks his hand away from his face. “I was desperate, I found a way out.”</p><p>“Yes, gorgeous way out, you're a true genius.”</p><p>“Look around you, look at the people you are agreeing to live and work with and compare them to the people we grew up around. Do you think being desperate is a matter of <em>choice</em>? It's a whole society feeding on misery and helplessness, it doesn't matter how we play we can't win, because even when we win, they claim the victory as their own and we're left feeling like it was our fault, like we <em>let</em> that be stolen from us.”</p><p>“But you did let them—”</p><p>“Listen to me. This world, it gives people like me no agency at all, and after all this shit, all these years, I fucking refuse to feel guilty.”</p><p>“So, go be a heartless whore to your lizard master, then,” Yugyeom says lowly and steps back, ready to walk away.</p><p>“Let me at least show you your rooms, I designed them myself,” Bambam asks, voice wavering dangerously because he believes what he’s just said, and his consciousness is clean, but seeing Yugyeom still hurts.</p><p>“No, thank you. I think I can find my way around on my own. Have been doing this for over half a decade, after all,” Yugyeom says and turns away.</p><p>Bambam thinks about running after him and doing something desperate, like tell him everything he’s been through ever since he took up that boy’s offer at school, but even on the verge of tears and racked up with fear, he knows better. His brother has always been too clever and too unpredictable, and his will has always been stronger than Bambam’s. If he submits now, Yugyeom will ruin him.</p><p>Instead, he pulls out a cigarette and walks around the mansion until he reaches the ponds on the east wing. This is his favourite place in the house, the water and the height making him feel isolated from the world, but not away from it, just an observer. He sits beside a statue and wills his desperation away between drags of his Marlboro Golds, wishing for a pack of Reds, instead.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <strong>MARK</strong>
</p><hr/><p>Traditionally, the Augusta House only holds two premium auctions a year, and that specific year the first had passed without Park-nim taking any interest on the available lots. When the second came at spring, their spokesperson paid Park a visit to deliver the catalogue and convince Mark to attend too. They had thirteen lots this time, and the glossy pages displayed the eight girls and five boys in different angles and attires, all with their makeup and hair perfectly in place. Mark leafed through it paying no mind to the girls — he knew his boss’s tastes very well — and reading carefully about the boys.</p><p>“I like number four,” said Park-nim, burrowed deep in his armchair and smoking a pipe, the perfect picture of a vintage gentleman, “the one with nice hands and a beautiful face.”</p><p>“Jeonghan, twenty years old?”</p><p>“Precisely.”</p><p>“Very pretty, yes,” Mark conceded, frowning a little because the boy was so androgynous, he’d first mistaken him for a girl. “And number seven?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Bambam, eighteen years old,” he read aloud. “Fluent in Korean, Thai and English, experienced, likes dancing and fashion, trained for four months.”</p><p>“Pass me the photographs.” Park-nim raised his eyebrows, turning page after page of the five spreads of the thin and cute-faced boy. “He looks taller than he is. And has-”</p><p>“Nice hands and long legs,” Mark finished for him, “Yes, I noticed and thought he’d be right down hyung’s alley.”</p><p>“He looks like an exotic Thai prince with this suit. How do you reckon he speaks so many languages and has experience at this age?”</p><p>“Probably raised around immigrants, and with a face like that he’s probably been on the streets since he was fifteen or something.” He stood up to empty his astray. “What’s the starting bid?”</p><p>“Five hundred thousand.”</p><p>“Fair enough, for four months of training.”</p><p>“Yes. I’m attending this one,” the boss said, eyes still glued to the Thai boy’s picture. “This little prince will look amazing on my ballroom.”</p><p>*</p><p>Auctions were always fun, especially slave auctions, because people got competitive and reckless, fighting with all they had for things they sometimes didn’t even need. Premium auctions were the same, but slightly different. For one, nobody attended alone, the custom of bringing along a consultant set by the mob bosses followed even by those who weren’t bosses. People attended wearing their best clothes and decked in jewellery, and the room was deadly silent, even the slightest sound meaning a bid.</p><p>Mark and Park-nim skipped the first three auctions but went in when lot number four was called. The porcelain doll boy was even prettier in person, standing on the raised platform wearing an all-white suit that made him look like an angel, and Park-nim bid twice, but let it go when he noticed Mark’s indifference.</p><p>Mark had been working at the Park House for eight years, starting as one of the many apprentice lawyers employed to cover the tracks of the money washing and blackmailing and under the table deals Park-nim made with powerful people around the world, but eventually reached the top position as the personal lawyer because the boss liked his “style”, which could be translated to him liking Mark’s talent for silencing people and making compromising things vanish without breaking a sweat and keeping his hands clean.</p><p>As the personal lawyer, his job wasn't only to lead the legal team, but also take care of Park-nim’s personal interests, such as his family and his companion. The last companion he’d had was an incredibly sophisticated slave, who adored Jinyoung — Park’s only nephew — and had been rewarded his freedom as a birthday gift and sent to live in Europe two years before. Mark knew Park-nim was used to some standards on everything, from his artisanal tobacco to his food to his personal sex slave, even though companions weren’t only sex slaves.</p><p>The fifth lot was a gorgeous girl and took a long while to be sold, but the sixth went by relatively fast. By the time number seven was called, Mark was craving dinner and mortally bored, but as soon as the “Little Prince” as Park-nim had dubbed the boy, came in, he though all the wait was worth it.</p><p>The boy walked with the confidence of an actual prince, back straight and large steps even though he was wearing heeled boots, the deep red suit they had put him in accentuating his strawberry blond hair and the long line of earrings on both his ears. Beside Mark, Park-nim’s eyebrows raised appreciatively, and he raised his hand right away, snatching the first bid.</p><p>Five minutes later, they had reached and passed the mark of a million dollars, but Mark was relaxed because without a companion on the house they were swimming on spare money. As the auction went on, the auctioneer made the boy take off his jacket and introduce himself in all the languages he knew — he had a bit of a lisp, and his English was accented, but the Korean was smooth and the Thai natural, albeit a bit slower — all while spurring people, until the two million mark was surpassed, forcing most of the room to leave the bidding game for lack of funds.</p><p>In the end, there was only Park-nim and Jeong-nim’s wife — who was known for her taste for orgies and young boys — but as soon as they asked for two million and seven hundred thousand, she got hesitant, and Park-nim rose his hand, breaking the long silence to say.</p><p>“Three million.”</p><p>As no other bid was made, Park-nim smiled like a satisfied cat, and that auction was finished.</p><p>*</p><p>After the fun came the exhausting bureaucracy, the contracts, the signed checks, the guarantees, and the inspection of the just bought slave. From up close, the boy was, in fact, tiny, slim and delicate, but didn't look breakable. He introduced himself again, formal and confident, his ears a bit red from nerves, but apart from that, he remained absolutely impassive, even when he had to strip naked to prove he bore no defects or deformations.</p><p>When they finished, Park-nim asked for him to be dressed back on the red suit, and they left the auction house silently, meeting with their driver on the lobby.</p><p>“Should we head home or have dinner first?” Park-nim asked, and Mark let his stomach lead him.</p><p>“Definitively Bang-nim’s hotel’ restaurant first, I’m about to pass out from starvation here,” he answered, and they both chucked, relaying the destination to the driver.</p><p>Mark sat on the passenger seat, as usual, and Park directed Bambam to the back seat to sit beside him. They looked good together, even with the age difference of over twenty years, both lean, elegant and well dressed, and the boy didn’t even blink when Park-nim’s hand went for his knee.</p><p>The boy’s apathy put Mark off a little as they sat in the restaurant and Park-nim chatted amicably. When his boss went to the bathroom, Mark leaned forward and introduced himself in English, and to his delight the boy answered in English as well, his expression loosening up minutely, his phrases getting longer and more detailed. He had a decent proficiency, and his words were clipped as the British spoke them. He seemed well trained, placing the honorific tenses without effort, eating like a little lord, not bothered by all the attention he was receiving, but he also didn’t smile, and even while accepting Park-nim’s advances, he didn’t flirt back.</p><p>When they got home it was already late, and he noticed Bambam’s nervousness seeping through the cracks from the way his shoulders tensed. Mark expected his boss to disappear with the new slave upstairs, but instead, he fixed Mark with a meaningful look and beckoned him closer, while holding the boy’s hand.</p><p>“Take Bambam to his rooms and settle him, please, I still have some business to attend. See you both tomorrow morning.” He passed the hand he was holding to Mark’s grasp and walked away, leaving Mark to watch the boy frown, confused, then finally lead him up the stairs.</p><p>“You can call me hyung if you like,” he said, in English, and the boy nodded, looking around. “What do you think of Park-hyungnim this far?”</p><p>“He’s very polite.”</p><p>“The auction house said you are experienced…” he trailed off to see if Bambam understood what he was hinting at and the boy nodded again, eyes alert. “When did you start?”</p><p>“In school, just for… you know, the money. Then I became a rent boy.” The bluntness with which he spoke about it was astonishing, and Mark wondered if it was the shock, a defence mechanism, or Bambam's actual personality.</p><p>“Never been an escort?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“How did you learn English, then?” he asked as they reached the apartment on the second floor that Park-nim had chosen for his new companion.</p><p>“I had a hyung from Hong Kong,” Bambam answered, eyes glued to the code Mark was typing on the security pad. “He taught me.”</p><p>“He taught you very well,” he remarks, making Bambam go inside before him. For some reason that seemed to make the boy more nervous, his eyes darting around and breath becoming rapid. “Are you alright?”</p><p>Even nervous, Bambam’s eyes were firm as he looked at Mark, their hight similar because he was on heels.</p><p>“Who was I brought for?”</p><p>“Hyungnim.”</p><p>“Then why did he send me up with you?”</p><p>Park-nim’s old companion, Dom, had been with him for around ten years, had helped him make his name, raise Jinyoung, build that house, and when Mark became one of the boss’s favourites, he also became close with Dom in more than one sense, because soon after grabbing the position of personal lawyer, Mark learnt Park-nim liked to <em>share</em> with people of his intimate trust, and it was not Mark who would complain about having someone so experienced to guide and instruct him about things he felt and wanted but had no idea about how to make happen. But his and Dom’s sexual encounters had been few and far between, because they easily filled their alone time with talk and Dom was willing to teach him about more things than just sex.</p><p>Thinking about it, he realised the entire process of choosing Bambam had an implicit purpose of the choice being Mark’s as much as Park-nim’s, and considering their ages, and the testament being drafted for the last few weeks, Mark realised this boy was meant to be his in the future, along with the house and everything else.</p><p>“We spent the whole day out, he’s probably worried about the late paperwork,” he replied amicably, beckoning Bambam forward into the living room, going around and opening doors. “This is the balcony, if you look to the left you can see the koi ponds. This is the drawing-room, and this is the bedroom. The small door over there by the front door leads to your closet, if you go through it, you’ll also reach your bedroom. Come here.”</p><p>Bambam obliged and followed him to the drawing-room, where he opened a large cupboard and pressed the back, that clicked and slid away showing a small staircase going up in tight circles.</p><p>“This leads to hyungnim's penthouse upstairs. In case of emergency, you can use this, or the doubled door closet, depending on the case. Understood?”</p><p>“Yes, Mark-hyung.”</p><p>“Your bathroom is an en-suite, and there should be everything you need in it, already. Don’t worry about clothes, I'm sure hyungnim will have them delivered here tomorrow morning, and you can sleep in, someone will come and call you when he needs you.”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>“Any questions?”</p><p>“Uh…” he stayed silent for a while, thinking and frowning. “Will I be allowed on the rest of the house?”</p><p>It was an odd question, but Mark reminded himself the boy was <em>new</em>, so fresh he could be mistaken for one of the baby succulents on the balcony ledge.</p><p>“I’m sure you will. But tomorrow. Tonight, make yourself comfortable, have a bath and sleep.” Bambam nodded, and Mark itched to know if his obedience was ingrained enough to last him the rest of his life serving men full of whims and big egos. “Good night, Bambam-ah,” he said, turning around to go downstairs and find out what exactly was his boss thinking.</p><p>“Good night, hyung,” the boy said, a hint of mirth in his voice, and when Mark looked at him, he was finally smiling. But it wasn’t flirtatious or cute like his baby face. It wasn’t even sexy like his full lips. The smile was steady, clever, and Mark smiled back, recognising an alike mind behind those honey-coloured contact lenses.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>When Mark mentions Bambam's (and by extent, Jackson's) English sounding British, it's because since in this universe there's no economic growth in Asia at all, Hong Kong is still a British colony.<br/>B.A.P. get their own mafia house because of course they MV for Skydive influenced this story, and also because their song Pray provided many themes for the first chapter (although Jackson and Bambam's song is Bastille's Oblivion).</p><p><b>THE</b> song for this chapter is Lorde's Glory and Gore. In our chaos there is calculation, right?</p><p>Thank you so much for reading, and don't forget to leave a comment if you can!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Veiled Sights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Full disclaimer, this is my second-favourite chapter. So much conflict! And Jinyoung's point-of-view makes a special appearance to grant us some perspective, too — not that he has any idea of what's actually happening, but his eyes are sharp.</p>
<p>As usual, thank you all for the kudos, bookmarks and comments!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>BAMBAM</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Bambam spends the first day after Yugyeom’s arrival trying to figure how to talk to him again, relieved that Park-nim is abroad so he has some free time. He gets that Yugyeom is furious and hurt, but that’s no excuse to shy away. He has dealt with worse before, so he walks to Yugyeom's room with a purpose, and he might regret it later, but he’s learnt a long time ago that there are many regrettable things which need to be done, and there’s no point on anticipating the feeling. Yugyeom opens the door still on his work clothes, despite the clock marking near midnight. He was probably unpacking because his boxes arrived mid-afternoon.</p>
<p>“I know you're busy, and… we didn't have the best of talks yesterday, but I wanted to see you,” he says, tentative, looking up at a frowning Yugyeom.</p>
<p>“Did you, now?” he asks in a tone that’s probably supposed to be sarcastic but strikes more as exhausted. “Come on in, then.”</p>
<p>Bambam steps in, and immediately bends down to take off his shoes and prevent his nervousness from being too visible.</p>
<p>“Don’t talk to me like this”, he says, unzipping his left boot, careful not to dislodge the insole. “Like you hate to see me, I know it’s a lie.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, <em>hyung</em>.”</p>
<p>It is the strangest thing, first to be addressed in honorifics after so many years of being called like a thing, and then to be called hyung. Bambam struggles not to flinch as he walks further inside, his feet sinking on the deep rug.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to call me hyung, it’s weird.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to be <em>alive</em>, it’s weird.” Yugyeom snaps, and this time Bambam does flinch.</p>
<p>“Yugyeom-ah, please. We’ve had this conversation already.” He walks up to his brother, now so much taller, so much quieter, his eyes so much darker. “I never thought I’d see you again, Gyeom-ah, and I'm—”</p>
<p>“If you had stayed, you’d be able to see me every day.”</p>
<p>“But I didn't stay. So, right now, I'm happy.”</p>
<p>“Everything is awfully simple to you, isn't it?”</p>
<p>“Why shouldn't it be? Hey.” He grabs Yugyeom’s hand and smiles. It’s his most perfect smile, not the shiniest one, but something gentler, closer to a genuine smile. “Can we just have a drink and talk a bit?”</p>
<p>“I don’t drink.”</p>
<p>Bambam feels his eyebrow inadvertently shoot up.</p>
<p>“How do you survive the parties? They never have virgin cocktails.”</p>
<p>“I just pretend to drink until the glass gets warm, then I leave it somewhere and pick another. Fake sip all night.”</p>
<p>“Very intelligent.”</p>
<p>“You don’t need to flatter me; I already hate you as it is.”</p>
<p>“I <em>know</em> flattery doesn't work, it’s on my fucking <em>job description</em>. I'm complimenting you for real.” Bambam retorts, purposefully ignoring the hate part.</p>
<p>“Whatever. I have coffee.”</p>
<p>“Fine by me. With cream, no sugar, please.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom shakes off his hand and walks to the corner of the room near the double doors leading to the garden and presses a button on a fancy coffee machine. Bambam was the one who decorated these rooms, he knows the disposition, but Yugyeom changed some things. He notices the flower vases and the sofa pillows are gone, as well as the books and electronic devices that weren’t there before. He doesn't pry, afraid of Yugyeom's reaction, just sits on the couch, idly perusing the books on the bigger shelf from a distance. They're mainly law books, titles full of terms he vaguely knows from so many years living with Mark, but there is some fiction, mostly in English.</p>
<p>“Which university did you attend?”</p>
<p>Yugyeom replies without looking at him, and Bambam smiles broadly because it’s one of the best of the country, highly competitive and bilingual.</p>
<p>“How did you learn English?”</p>
<p>“On my own. And the school I went for my last year was bilingual, too.”</p>
<p>“That’s really nice.”</p>
<p>“I’m aware.”</p>
<p>Bambam bites his tongue not to scold him for being sarcastic, reminding himself he’s in no place to play the bigger brother anymore. Yugyeom comes back with two cups, the wide type made of decorated glass that Bambam himself picked to go with the glass counters and the coffee table.</p>
<p>The coffee is more on the bitter side, so strong Bambam feels he’ll get a headache, but the taste is good. It’s obviously a premium bean, and he wonders how expensive it currently is, and how well are things at home that Yugyeom can afford something like that. Yugyeom takes his coffee black, sitting opposite of him, the coffee table like a barricade between them. After he takes a few sips — and Bambam doesn’t know how he can tolerate the heat of the drink on his tongue — Yugyeom procures a silver box from his pocket and shakes a cigarette out of it.</p>
<p>“Want one?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” he says, noticing a new ring on Yugyeom’s outstretched hand.</p>
<p>Yugyeom leans forward to light the cigarette for him with a silver lighter identical to the one Mark has, and Bambam doesn’t know if it’s the strong nicotine or the closeness that makes him feel faint.</p>
<p>“Fuck.” He presses his eyes closed. “What label is this?”</p>
<p>“Camel.”</p>
<p>“You and Mark-hyung should make a club for your horrible tastes. He smokes that awful one with the menthol bubble inside.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom snickers over his coffee.</p>
<p>“What do you usually smoke? Silvers?”</p>
<p>“Golds. I was more into Reds, picked it up from Jackson-hyung, but hyungnim finds them too strong, I switched.”</p>
<p>“Jackson smoked Camels.”</p>
<p>Bambam stops blowing air at his coffee and looks up.</p>
<p>“He does? That’s strange. Who told you?”</p>
<p>Yugyeom's face is impassive, perhaps too much, because a second ago he wasn't looking like that.</p>
<p>“I saw it myself. Picked the brand from him.”</p>
<p>Cocking his head to the side, Bambam puts the cigarette back in his mouth.</p>
<p>“Did you get close to him?”</p>
<p>“I think so.”</p>
<p>“How come?”</p>
<p>“Friends in common, all the same crowd. He was very watchful around me. Because of you.”</p>
<p>“I see. And he let you smoke around him?” he’s curious now because Yugyeom is talking, even if just a little, and Bambam wants to know about all the things and people he missed.</p>
<p>“Yes? He never said anything, even lent me some from time to time.”</p>
<p>That makes Bambam laugh, bitter and loud.</p>
<p>“Fucking ridiculous. He always scolded me for smoking, threw huge tantrums when I stole his Reds. How’s he?”</p>
<p>Yugyeom downs his coffee — that thing must still be <em>boiling</em>, the boy is a freak of nature — and stays silent for a while, smoke flowing around him. He was very bland as a child, but as a man, he turned out quite attractive.</p>
<p>“Dead. Suicide.”</p>
<p>Something cold and thick downs Bambam’s throat, and he fears taking a sip from his coffee because he might choke.</p>
<p>“How? When?”</p>
<p>“Bullet to the head, I heard, but the coffin was closed. The funeral was the day before we moved out, about five years ago.”</p>
<p>“Did you go? To the funeral, I mean.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“D’you know where he’s buried? Can you take some flowers for me, someday?”</p>
<p>“Do it yourself, if you want to pay your respects,” Yugyeom retorts, and Bambam clenches his teeth.</p>
<p>“You probably know I can’t leave the city.”</p>
<p>“Well, your bad, then.”</p>
<p>Bambam snubs his cigarette, shock and sadness and anger making his hands shake. He puts his untouched coffee down and stands, striding towards Yugyeom, whose face hasn’t changed and shows no sign of grief or guilt for speaking that way.</p>
<p>“Listen here, he was my friend and he’s dead, I’m comp—”</p>
<p>“He was your lover. You should see the way he looked at me, the way he spoke about you. He knew something, didn’t he? But he always said you weren't coming back,” Yugyeom says, full of sarcasm, drumming his fingers on the plush armrest. Bambam snags the cigarette from his insolent mouth and stifles the urge to slap him.  He wanted to talk to him, but these talks aren't doing any good, so he strides for the door and single-handedly puts his shoes back.</p>
<p>“Thank you for the coffee,” he says, back turned to the room.</p>
<p>“The pleasure was all mine”, Yugyeom replies, and there’s so much malice in his voice Bambam slams the door on his way out. Only when he reaches his own rooms, he realises there’s still a half-burnt Camel between his fingers, so he puts it in his mouth and relights it, biting the filter while watching the sky change colours.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>JINYOUNG</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Stability, Jinyoung knows, is nothing but a sweet illusion. His life is a main street, people coming and going, buildings rising and imploding, cars passing and crashing. He, himself, is nothing. He’s not the brand-new asphalt nor the rocks underneath, stationed there since prehistorical times, he’s the immaterial name of the street, the notion of it being a location. Changes come and go, and he feels them, enjoys or hates them, but he knows nothing, and no one is ever stopping for him. Jaebeom-hyung can talk as much as he wants, but he doesn’t stop either, he travels all the time, and he lives for his status and his shiny cars, and he moves like them as well, flashing and roaring. Jinyoung refuses to behave like a waiting housewife, but he knows to other people’s eyes it’s exactly what he is.</p>
<p>There’s nothing inherently wrong with waiting, but people seem to think there is. He sees the judgement on Mark-hyung’s and Bambam’s and Youngjae’s eyes, but funnily enough, not on his uncle’s, maybe because his uncle is also always waiting for something.</p>
<p>He wakes up late, well after Jaebeom-hyung left for Singapore, skips breakfast, has lunch upstairs, and skips dinner. The next day, he’s still not in the mood to see people, so he leaves his rooms and heads for the library, where he locks the door from the inside and just reads out loud until he gets sick of the sound of his own voice and finally feels ready to face the world outside of his own mind, for a change. It’s something he does from time to time, some sort of inconstant tradition when the days feel particularly hard and he’s about to come crashing, and when he comes out there’s usually no one around, but this time he finds a new face looking straight at him.</p>
<p>“Hello,” says the man, formally, bowing, “I’m Kim Yugyeom, Mark-ssi’s new assistant.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>There isn’t much to be said about this Yugyeom person, not from first glance, but if Mark-hyung chose him he must be somewhat different. All in all, he is new. That’s the most important part: he’s new, so Jinyoung goes forward and shakes his hand, asks his age, tells him right away to call him hyung, enquires his opinion about the house, the food, the job, finds out they went to the same college — Jinyoung to study Art and Literature, him to study Law — and overall makes small talk while they drift towards the main office on the first floor where he seemed to be heading to.</p>
<p>It’s no surprise to find Mark-hyung there on his uncle’s chair. It’s something he and Jaebeom-hyung have been arguing about a lot, lately. It’s been years since it started, but hyung still is — or pretends to be, for the sake of his ego — unaware of Mark-hyung slowly but surely filling his uncle’s shoes.</p>
<p>“I see you’ve met our Yugyeomie,” Mark-hyung says, and Jinyoung smiles and nods, already walking back to the door. Sometimes he’s not in the mood to play mind games with his uncle’s men. “Where were you at breakfast?”</p>
<p>“In the library.”</p>
<p>“But did you eat something?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he lies. It’s an easy to catch lie, but that’s his charm, he never lies as if he means to.</p>
<p>“No, you didn’t. Please have lunch with us, I swear me and Yugyeom will keep you company.”</p>
<p>It’s not that Jinyoung hates when they do it; when they mock-pity him for Jaebeom-hyung’s absence — or what his absence means, because everyone and their mother knows hyung doesn’t back away from the exotic dancers and fancy prostitutes his uncle gets when he visits someone important overseas — it’s that he doesn’t like his addiction to it, how much he enjoys being persuaded to be fine while hyung sticks his cock somewhere else on the other side of the ocean.</p>
<p>He would love to ask how did Yoo Youngjae-hyung feel when he was dating Jaebeom-hyung, but he evidently never does, especially because that would mean acknowledging the age-long affair between Jaebeom-hyung and their little Youngjae, his uncle’s favourite slave and the actual baby boy of the house, Bambam’s act be damned. And he doesn’t want to mess with his uncle on this subject, because everyone knows Youngjae’s mum — she was Jinyoung’s nanny from his first day on the house, from the very moment he was orphaned, and is the housekeeper now — but no one knows his dad, only the speculation about him being a man of the Park family. And Jinyoung knows his uncle is gay and his father used to cheat left and right on his mother. It’s an art to plaster a smile on his face when he thinks of his hyung with <em>Youngjae</em>, but he went to Art School, after all.</p>
<p>They have lunch. Youngjae doesn't show up, thankfully, just Bambam, oddly subdued, and Mark-hyung, who apparently has no poison to dribble and keeps quiet. It’s an opportunity as good as any, so Jinyoung takes it, sets up a conversation with the new boy, who’s taken his suit jacket off and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He’s tall, taller than Jaebeom-hyung, legs long and slender, crossed in a way that’s vaguely familiar to Jinyoung. Jaebeom-hyung isn’t there to feel jealous and the boy doesn't seem to mind, so Jinyoung looks him up and down, lingers in some places: the long nose, pretty mouth, huge hands, shoulders that fill the shirt like a model’s. He’s a good talker too, has a sharp focus Jinyoung rarely sees on people around him, all of them too distracted by shining objects or their egos.</p>
<p>They’re halfway through dessert and Yugyeom is talking to Mark-hyung now, a little frown on his brow, but from his place, Jinyoung can see his eyes slide to Bambam, who catches Yugyeom’s eye for a second before tilting his chin up and looking away. The thing about Bambam is for all that he’s worth nearly ten million dollars now and wears a solid gold collar, he doesn’t behave like a slave, he never developed that subtle submission that comes from being broken down that most slaves have under their skins, even Youngjae. Bambam behaves like he’s got a job, not an owner, and that gives him a temper of sorts. When he’s angry he doesn’t look sullen, he tilts his chin up and acts like he’s special.</p>
<p>It clicks into place, then, why Bambam’s so quiet. He’s tense, the lines of his shoulders unnaturally firm, gestures too fluid, breath too slow, like he’s forcing himself to behave. Jinyoung knows the signs from his own experience and doesn’t miss how Bambam’s eyes are fixed in a way that suggests he’s keeping Yugyeom on his peripheral. It’s strange because the boy has been in the house for two days max, and Bambam’s not easy to anger. Stranger still is how Mark-hyung doesn't notice or pretends not to, Jinyoung can’t be sure. It looks messy and Jinyoung’s got too much in his hands already, so he mentally backpedals, lets the thought go, bids them goodbye and walks back up to his apartment to dress up for the auction of a Kuroda Seiki he’s been lusting after for years and is fairly sure was stolen from some private collection in Europe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>BAMBAM</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Yugyeom’s very first word was “hyung”. Kunpimook had been old enough to remember it because Yugyeom took longer than other kids to start talking, and by then Kunpimook himself was already about to turn five years old. He never managed to explain why his brother chose that specific word to start with, because “mum”, “dad” and “puppy” were just as common on their vocabulary, since back then they had a dog — a skinny and nameless dog, but theirs anyway — but the commotion it created was incredible. From that day on, Yugyeom would waddle after Kunpimook on his chubby legs, repeating “hyung, hyung”, like it was the only word in the entire Korean language.</p>
<p>Sometimes, Kunpimook felt like their dog: skinny and nameless. Unlike Yugyeom, he had no father, so his surname was that long, winding Thai name his mother used to have, alone in their household since she became a Kim just like her husband and her second child. He knew not to resent her for it, because it was his biological father’s fault anyway since he disappeared as soon as his mother told him she was pregnant and took Kunpimook's rightful name with him.</p>
<p>The grown-ups seemed to notice the difference, but Yugyeom didn’t. He never went through that phase when small children think their half-siblings have the same parents as them, and instead, took a long while to understand Kunpimook shared the same mother with him. In his mind, “mummy”, “papa” and “hyung” were three separate entities, and it was as funny as it was weird. It made Kunpimook feel more detached, somehow. Only tied to those people by Yugyeom’s presence.</p>
<p>Yugyeom’s father died when Kunpimook was a month shy of turning thirteen, and after watching the man crumble for months, seeing his once rosy face turn pale and drawn, after watching their dog die of starvation and their mother struggle to make ends meet, Kunpimook — as young as he was — couldn't mourn the poor man too much, especially because Yugyeom didn’t seem to care.</p>
<p>Because the body was stuck in the morgue while the police pretended to investigate one more nobody found dead on the streets, their mother had the time to grieve and to find out they had nothing, not a single won, to pay the bills and the upcoming funeral. That wasn't the first family member she had lost, her parents long gone, but that had been in Thailand, and Korea was infinitely crueller and more expensive. Kunpimook found a red plastic bag in Yugyeom’s toy box and walked outside to knock on their left side neighbour.</p>
<p>“Mornin’ mista. Got any to ‘elp with tha funeral?”</p>
<p>Kunpimook took in the neighbours’ faces, their scrawny hands reaching to give him crumpled bills, his bag turning into a mix of different colours, and took in his mother’s face when he gave it to her, her shock and her tears, how she sobbed while hugging him and calling him her “jewel”. She’d always called him “jewel” since he was a baby, sometimes in Thai, others in Korean, and the nickname never stopped making him feel special, treasured. Nobody else ever called him that.</p>
<p>Yugyeom didn't cry at the funeral, but he sulked, agitated by the strange people and his mother’s down mood, and Kunpimook held his hand, gave him hugs, and when none of it worked, he stole a piece of chocolate from the corner grocery store, which finally settled Yugyeom a little bit.</p>
<p>Their childhood went on as ordinary as possible from then on, very alike to many of their fatherless peers, until Kunpimook got older and had to change schools. The new school was bigger and the kids harsher, mindlessly bullying the tiny scrawny new boy, who never fought back and had no friends. Then another kid transferred in the middle of the year and they turned to him too, but as this new kid was Scary Jooheon’s cousin Kunpimook’s life definitively changed the day Jooheon showed up with his friends to beat the shit out of their bullies, and Changkyun grabbed Kunpimook and introduced him as his classmate. Kunpimook, as social as he was, had never had a real mate, someone his age and with similar interests, and Changkyun’s quiet friendship was a pleasant surprise, as well as Jooheon’s openness, Namjoon’s attentiveness and Jackson’s protectiveness. Initially, he was closer to Namjoon-hyung, because his younger brother was Yugyeom's friend and that made Kunpimook feel connected, but, with time, Jackson-hyung became his favourite.</p>
<p>Jackson didn’t get him, too spoilt and strong to understand what could possibly happen inside someone like Kunpimook’s head, but he made him feel like he was part of <em>something</em>. It was mainly an illusion, because Jackson was, in a sense, just like him: social but lonely. Motherless, detached from his father, he was a mirrored version of Kunpimook’s life, and they bonded, kept each other afloat with whispers and jokes and late-night talks that sounded deep but barely scratched the surface.</p>
<p>The five of them would go out for drinks, constantly walking on the wire of death by drunk driving, trying to replace their fears with bravado. Kunpimook stopped feeling detached only to feel trapped. He would walk with nowhere to go for hours an end, then go home and have his bedsheets stifle him until he hyperventilated, no matter how much he tried to time his breathing with Yugyeom’s.</p>
<p>On one of these walks, Kunpimook found himself wandering around the block behind his own, debating whether or not to shoplift a pack of cigarettes — he’d just started smoking because of one of the girls in his class, bored out of his mind now that his hyungs had graduated — when something came over him and he changed directions. At the end of the street was his mother, and from his point of view, he could see her stony face and her hands gesturing around as she talked to a man. Curious, he dove into the maze of alleys between the buildings until he reached a point where he could see the man’s face and froze. The guy was common, if not a bit ugly, and dressed tastelessly, but Kunpimook knew him and knew he was a loan shark, one of the many people that had ruined Yugyeom’s father’s life. He didn’t need to be a genius to know what business that guy had with his mother, to understand why they’d been so short of money the past few weeks that they could barely eat even with Kunpimook’s side business at school.</p>
<p>He couldn't breathe, not at home, not at school, not at the filthy streets. More than ever, he wanted to get away and never be found, but still there was Yugyeom, growing into this strange boy, quiet and reserved whereas Kunpimook was talkative and sociable, about to enrol in the same school as him, a golden child as ever, so unlike his slack of a brother.</p>
<p>He quit school, and the only thing he had left was the temple. Once in every two or three months he and his mum would take the bus in the early morning, leaving Yugyeom — who never learnt how to meditate — at Jungkook's house, and stay out the whole day, taking their own time, both together and apart, to learn, pray and meditate. His mother was a very disciplined Buddhist, and he found it to be one of her most admirable qualities, one that inspired him to try and have a mind as well trained as hers.</p>
<p>The teachers at the temple, who’d known him since he was a small child, had never judged him for his flashy personality and busy mouth; instead, they seemed glad to leave him to walk his path and know himself better, so he sought out his favourite teacher — for someone who’d never minded school, he sure loved to learn at the temple — to ask for help. He told her about the stifling sheets, the ties that felt like shackles, the tar filling his lungs, and the guidance he received was to search for his own foundation, a cornerstone to build upon his own strength and freedom, because if he were free inside his mind nothing and no one would ever be able to tie him down. He believed her, even when the strong chain of Lola’s death pulled him into an ocean of fear, and he allowed an iron collar to be put around his neck for the rest of his life. Be it made of iron or gold; it didn’t matter. He was leaving behind the only tie that could contain him, and his escape would forever be to the of inside his mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>YUGYEOM</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>As his second day passes, Yugyeom feels less and less disturbed by seeing Kunpimook, to the point shock is overridden by pure anger. They don’t see each other except for lunch and dinner, and Yugyeom keeps silent at both, because Kunpimook is talking to Mark, and he can’t bear to make conversation with his brother without spitting his rage out. About an hour after they all left the dinner table there’s a knock on his door, and he puts his phone aside, wondering if Mark is one of those people who work day and night, but it’s just Kunpimook.</p>
<p>“Get off, I’m not in the mood,” he grumbles, looking away, but noticing the nervous way Kunpimook ranks his hand through his hair. He’s still on his day clothes, tight trousers and all.</p>
<p>“Gyeomie, listen-”</p>
<p>“No, I won’t listen to your sorry blab-”</p>
<p>“Park-nim comes back from overseas tomorrow morning, and then I’ll be too busy. Please, Yugyeom-ah, you can go back to hating me tomorrow, alright? Tonight, we need to talk.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom crosses his arms and looks at him, past the cosmetic surgeries and the makeup, and sees the desperation, the <em>hunger</em> in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Fine.” He knows he sounds like a temperamental kid, but Kunpimook’s been disturbing parts of him he thought long forgotten or gone.</p>
<p>The main house is empty, and they take the stairs up to the second floor, passing the loggia and corridors with indirect light on the ceiling. Kunpimook stops at the door at the end of a corridor and types the security code. Yugyeom’s never been to this part of the house, he knows the upper garden is somewhere close, but it doesn't look like the servant’s quarters. When the door opens, he realises from the first glimpse it’s a luxury apartment.</p>
<p>“Are those the boss’s rooms?” he asks, disbelief colouring his words as he eyes the mini bar on the corner, the large watercolours surrounding it and the oil paintings closer to the double doors open to the balcony.</p>
<p>“What? No, they’re mine. Hyungnim is on the upper floor.”</p>
<p>“Why are they so big?” he asks, stepping in and noticing the velvety sofas, the carved wood tables and what he believes to be an original Pollock on the far wall.</p>
<p>“Because they’re not small, obviously. Don’t leave your shoes by the door, there’s a rack beside you.”</p>
<p>“But you’re a slave, why so many luxuries?”</p>
<p>“How thick are you, seriously,” Kunpimook mutters, walking towards the mini bar. “I’m a slave, yes, but I'm a companion slave, not all slaves have the same ranking and privileges. Companions are all about opulence and wealth, I'm supposed to be a showcase of hyungnim’s money and status, even at home.” He rummages through the bottles in the mini fridge. “Would you like some iced tea?”</p>
<p>Yugyeom is walking around, cataloguing the video game consoles, the obviously custom-made speakers — they’re painted a soft antique gold to match the deco — and the photographs displayed in a glass panel over the TV, all professional shots, no personal pictures.</p>
<p>“You like photography?”</p>
<p>“Yes, it’s the hobby I share with hyungnim.” Yugyeom isn’t looking at him, but he sounds impatient. “Is lemon tea alright?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” He watches from afar as Kunpimook pours the tea on two tumblers and a measure of some alcoholic beverage on one of them. “Is everyone in this house an alcoholic?” has asks, more as an afterthought, because he’s seen Mark drink an inordinate amount of stuff while working the past two days, and Kunpimook shrugs.</p>
<p>“It’s just habit, I guess, but the work makes you prone to need some chemical comfort. Not my case, specifically, because I’ve never been a lightweight, and nowadays I don’t think even ethanol fuel would make me drunk enough to pass out.” The ice machine rattles obnoxiously, and he lifts the glasses from the counter. “Come on, the drawing room has better chairs.”</p>
<p>The so-called drawing room is less lavish, with armchairs and throw pillows, a MacBook left open on one of the tables beside a matching steel ashtray. There are drawing pads and supplies scattered around, as well as a tablet.</p>
<p>“You draw, too?”</p>
<p>“Just as a hobby, again. I also do fashion and interior design. Hyungnim indulges on the stuff I like, even the dangerous ones like auto racing because he finds it ‘tasteful’.” He smiles and places the glasses on a low table, motioning for an armchair set. “I'm not bright on school stuff, you must remember that, so I started picking up hobbies from what people around could teach me, like photography or driving. It’s fun, and gives me some talking substance, even if I'm deco on legs.”</p>
<p>The mindset is simple and logical, borderline cold, and Yugyeom is equal parts fascinated and disgusted by it.</p>
<p>“How do people treat you?” he hears himself ask, and Kunpimook stirs his drink, pouting a little as he seems to contemplate the question.</p>
<p>“Just fine. You can’t insult or harm companions without offending their masters unless you’re the master yourself, but hyungnim loves his money and his gentleman reputation way more than he loves violence or anything. He’s very civil, caring, even. When he wants to yell or be aggressive it’s usually Jaebeom-hyung who’s on the receiving end. To the house slaves, who are way more vulnerable, he’s like… indifferent, I think; leaves them to the housekeeper or me, except Youngjae, of course, he’s his favourite.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom thinks about this Youngjae, who he met earlier that day and had a beautiful voice, big, expressive eyes, delicate features and a cute tilt to his chin, but as they interacted Yugyeom thought something about his behaviour made him less good-looking, like he was too careless and childish to be considered fully grown, and that makes him rather weird.  Kunpimook shakes his head when Yugyeom tells him that but smiles quite ironically before speaking.</p>
<p>“It’s hyungnim and Jaebeom-hyung’s fault. They praise Youngjae’s good-boy features far too much, I think it gives off the vibe that he’ll only be liked as long as he acts like a child. But, on the other hand, he was also born with a lot of weird conditions that stunted his growth.”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, he’s a haemophiliac, everybody’s always paranoid around him. He nearly died as a kid because he fell and broke something, then hyungnim paid for the treatment, like he pays his college tuition. He got into the Music program last year. Apparently, they deemed it safe enough.”</p>
<p>“If he’s allowed to go to college, why aren't you?”</p>
<p>“I would be, probably, but why bother? I hate school, it’s boring.”</p>
<p>The obstinate way Kunpimook says that is like a crack on his facade, a glimpse of a personality Yugyeom realises he has never seen because the same detachment Kunpimook has towards his current life is what he showed when they were younger.</p>
<p>“But still, Kunpimook-hy—”</p>
<p>“Bambam.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Don’t use my birth name here. What if you call me by it in front of other people? I haven't used it for years; nobody knows me for it nowadays.”</p>
<p>“I won’t—”</p>
<p>“Don’t call me Kunpimook and don’t call me hyung, either; technically, we’re the same age.”</p>
<p>“Can you let me finish?” Yugyeom feels an itch under his skin, an urge to pin Kunpimook — Bambam, whatever — somewhere and make him hear everything Yugyeom has swallowed for years. “I still don’t understand why you left us. It was only money.”</p>
<p>“This is what true poverty does to people, Gyeom. It was never only money, it was years worth of debt mother would never be able to pay, it was a chance for the two of you to survive. I was sold for three million dollars, and you know what? It still stands as one of the biggest sums on a companion, only Baekhyun passed me last year. I thought I was going to get two-hundred thousand, three-hundred at best, just enough for Mother to pay the debts and stop worrying about the bills, but in the end, I made you millionaires, so I have no regrets.” His lips quirk just a little. “And judging by your resume and your wristwatch I think you haven’t, either.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom sits, speechless, horrified that his brother manages to think a piece of jewellery can compensate for such loss. His face probably shows what he feels, because Kunpimook shrugs and sips from his drink.</p>
<p>“How did you manage to make the money last until now, by the way? With the college tuition and all?”</p>
<p>“Please”, he suddenly feels brave enough to be ironic, “two million dollars wouldn't just <em>vanish</em>.”</p>
<p>He expects Kunpimook to laugh, or something like that, but he frowns.</p>
<p>“Two million?”, he mumbles, seemingly to himself. “Jackson and his fucking charity.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom's insides go cold. Mentioning Jackson last night was a mistake, a plot hole that he escaped by sheer luck and omission. He doesn't want to talk about how he’s been making money for the last few years, and most of all, he doesn't want to talk about Jackson.</p>
<p>“You haven’t answered me.”</p>
<p>“I said—”</p>
<p>“You said a lot of things but not why you chose to do something so… final. You <em>left</em> us, just walked out with no explanation, no goo—”</p>
<p>“I’m telling y—”</p>
<p>“<em>Let me fucking finish!</em>” Yugyeom hisses, setting his glass on the table with a clunk, and Kunpimook flinches minutely, which is very strange because a normal person would've fully recoiled. “We thought you were <em>dead</em>, but instead you were here, hyung, sitting on a rich guy’s lap while he pampers and uses you, like a fancy whore.”</p>
<p>This time, Kunpimook recoils and stands up. Yugyeom comes to the realisation he stands up when he’s agitated and wants to put a stop to the conversation like he did last night. So Yugyeom stays on his seat, legs resolutely crossed.</p>
<p>“Let’s get one thing straight,” Kunpimook says, pacing for a while, until he comes to a stop near the window, facing away from Yugyeom. “In here, I’m not Kunpimook, I’m not hyung. When your brother went missing, it’s just like he died. I’m not your brother, Yugyeom-ssi.”</p>
<p>It’s a challenge, Yugyeom can feel the defiance instilled on the air of the room, but he doesn't fall for the bait. If Kunpimook wants him to submit, he’s lost already, because if he’s not a hyung, if he doesn't want them to be brothers, then his authority has no leg to stand on. From now on, they are equal, or maybe not, because Yugyeom is not a slave, something he realises with a twist of his guts.</p>
<p>“Well, Bambam,” he relaxes and takes his glass back, “if that’s the case, I don’t see why we should fight.”</p>
<p>Kunpimook turns back to him, and he’s desperate again, Yugyeom almost laughs at the look of distress on his pretty face.</p>
<p>“Ah, yes,” he says, hesitant, slowly realising Yugyeom isn't using any honorary tense.</p>
<p>“Can we have refreshments? My tea is rather warm now.” He extends his tumbler and Bambam picks it with cautious fingers, like the glass is going to shatter in his palm.</p>
<p>As he walks out the room heading for the minibar, Yugyeom hears him swear.</p>
<p>Good.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>BAMBAM</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Only over a week later Bambam has the time to contemplate whether or not go after Yugyeom again. Some of the horror and the thrill have vanished, and he’s been gradually settling into a state of gentle sadness, belatedly processing all the sorrow he was supposed to feel back when he was sold, the grief over Jackson tinting his sight like a pair of glasses with desaturating lenses. That night he decides to let the subject rest, dresses on his favourite sweatpants and a soft cotton shirt and heads for the pool, iPad in tow, to catch up on some TV show with no bright lights or noisy people to demand on him.  He’s used to being bored while being busy, only his body moving, his mind on autopilot and so, so far away, tucked into a corner full of white noise; but occasionally he wakes up from this apathy and lets restlessness take over, eating him from the inside, making him hungry and utterly unsatisfied. He’s felt that way for some of the past days, but today has been a quiet day, the world behind his eyes just a sea of melancholy, which is an ecstatic feeling on itself.</p>
<p>Making himself comfortable on one of the reclining chairs, he props up his iPad and drowns on a fictional world, feeling invisible and weightless for once. Halfway through the third episode he distantly hears footsteps but pays them no mind, figuring that whoever that is will just go on their way. Only after the fourth episode ends he looks up, intending to go inside and look for some food, but nearly falls out of his chair with a jolt when he sees Yugyeom sitting on the pool ledge right in front of him, placidly staring at the garden around them, legs on the water.</p>
<p>“Fuck, you scared me!”</p>
<p>Yugyeom half turns to him, shrugging.</p>
<p>“You were very quiet, I didn’t want to disturb.”</p>
<p>“This show is in Japanese, I had to concentrate.”</p>
<p>“You speak Japanese?”</p>
<p>“Not really, have been trying to study it for a while, but I can only listen and understand a little bit, my accent is atrocious.”</p>
<p>“I saw you speaking English with Mark-hyung earlier.”</p>
<p>“You did?”</p>
<p>“You speak really well.”</p>
<p>“Thank you. Mark-hyung always complains that I clip the words too much and sound like a British sailor.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom snorts, but it’s not a mean laugh.</p>
<p>“I pictured you with a five-o-clock-shadow and dock worker clothes, cursing at some coiled rope,” he says, and Bambam laughs too. “I like the clothes you’re wearing now.”</p>
<p>Bambam frowns minutely, marvelling at what good graces made Yugyeom so nice today, complimenting him, even.</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Listen, I know we don’t speak much to each other.”</p>
<p>“Uh-um.”</p>
<p>“But I’ve been thinking. I don’t think we should be awkward around one another, it’s even more suspicious, especially since Park-nim apparently wants us all to get along.”</p>
<p>Biting his tongue not to retort that that was <em>exactly what he tried to say from the beginning</em>, Bambam just nods, putting the iPad away.</p>
<p>“So, do you want to come inside and have some coffee? Yoona gave me a cake today and I’m not really into sweets, we can share,” Yugyeom asks, and that is some big peace offering, complete with an upper-class tea party and all, which makes Bambam even more suspicious. He doesn't believe in people suddenly changing their minds on their own but knows a big lot about influences and second intentions. Still, because it’s Yugyeom and he’s curious, he stands up.</p>
<p>“Fine. But if you get rude, I’m walking out and not looking back. I don’t run after people that clearly don’t want me around,” he warns, and Yugyeom just nods and leads the way down the gardens.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>This time around, while Yugyeom makes the coffee and fetches the cake, Bambam takes a full tour around the room, touching the books’ spines, investigating the video game console, the disarray of cables and chargers on the sofa, the decoration on the shelves. Among a collection of miniature dice of every colour, a full ashtray, two old decks of playing cards and a pile of Polaroids, he finds the only framed photograph and immediately stops, mesmerised. His eyes roam over the picture, taking in Yugyeom's younger features, his tight smile, his hand resting on their mother’s shoulder. She looks more mature than when Bambam’s last seen her, but not much older, only healthier, the nice clothes and makeup complementing her soft features. Yugyeom is insanely taller than her, and Bambam realises himself would be too, now.</p>
<p>“How is she?” he asks, nearly whispering.</p>
<p>Yugyeom, from where he is across the room, doesn't even look up but seems to know who’s he talking about.</p>
<p>“Mum’s well, but we don’t speak often. She moved back to Thailand when I got in college.”</p>
<p>“She’s living in Thailand again?” That is <em>awesome</em> because he knows for a fact, she always missed her home.</p>
<p>“Now she’s in America, has been there for a few years. She married again, a heart surgeon, or neurosurgeon, anyway, a rich doctor, and he decided to move. They had a baby a few months ago, a girl.”</p>
<p>Bambam, eyes still glued to the photo, tries to imagine their mother with a good husband and a baby daughter, but for the millionth time realises he can no longer picture her face in his mind, even with the aid of a photograph.</p>
<p>“Do you have pictures? Of the baby, I mean.”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>The dryness of the reply startles him a bit, and he looks up at Yugyeom, who’s playing on his phone while waiting for the coffee machine. But he’s not being nonchalant, his stance is not fake-relaxed, and his eyes aren’t fixed. He genuinely doesn't care.</p>
<p>“Why?” Bambam asks, and something on his tone finally makes Yugyeom look at him.</p>
<p>“Because it’s dangerous, you know it better than me. It’s enough stupidity to have this one,” he says, gesturing to the frame on Bambam's hands, “I cannot afford to be sentimental and have mother suffer the consequences of my job in case something goes wrong.”</p>
<p>“So, you estrange her?”</p>
<p>“I <em>talk</em> to her, just never say much. Do you think she wouldn't figure it out? You know she hates everything that has to do with violence or crime, how do you think she’d like me doing what I do? I call, check on her, tell her I’m fine, I got a job, I got friends, I even went to her wedding, I just don’t want to worry her.” He walks over, mouth downturned, and ignores the beep of the coffee machine in favour of prying the frame out of Bambam’s hands and placing it back on the shelf. “Come on, don’t look so upset.”</p>
<p>Bambam feels what he felt at the ponds a few days ago, desperate and detached. Seeing his mother broke something inside of him, he can feel the cracks and the fissures threatening to make his fine mental training into dust, turning a part of him back into the desperate teenager he once was, and he looks down and tries to conceal how terribly upset he is. But Yugyeom just steps closer and outstretches his arms, tentatively, and Bambam strides right into them, wrapping himself around him, tangling his fingers on Yugyeom's hair and pulling his head down to rest on his own shoulder, like when they were children and Yugyeom’s eyes reached his chin.</p>
<p>He feels warm all over, the heat from their contact spreading and filling him, replacing the knot in his throat, and he thinks of the sun, reviving and feeding his soul after a long winter. Yugyeom’s hands tighten on his back, pulling at his shirt, making him think of the sun again, scorching hot and unforgiving, burning the back of his neck, stifling his breath, bouncing off the snow and the old factory walls in Daegu, so many years ago. Yugyeom is his sun, drawing him close, enlightening him to see himself as he truly is, mercilessly burning him to the bone. He feels the burn now, the rays piercing through his flesh, but just breaths in and out, and not a word is spoken between them.</p>
<p>They separate after the machine beeps again, but it’s soft and it leaves a bittersweet feeling inside Bambam’s chest. He knows Yugyeom is still as unpredictable as ever but being fearful never really suited him anyway.</p>
<p>He enjoys his coffee this time around, and doesn't smoke. Yugyeom talks about the sports car he wants to buy and Bambam tells him about the car expo he went in April. They discuss their favourite TV shows and cake flavours, try to reason with each other because they disagree <em>strongly</em> about whether pizza can have sweet toppings or not — Yugyeom seems to hate even remotely sugary things —, and overall have some much-needed superficial fun. They don’t talk about the other people in the house or their routine, just aimlessly chat and wave their cake-loaded forks at each other until Bambam, in an inordinate show of clumsiness, drops a dollop of glaze on the carpet and nearly cries because <em>it will stain!</em></p>
<p>“Calm down, the carpet ain’t gonna kill you over some cake.” Yugyeom laughs, accent getting sloppy for a second while he chuckles loudly.</p>
<p>“Imagine if it did, what a scene, me waking up to find the carpet rolled and standing up, bending down to suffocate me to death.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom shrieks with laughter, dropping some cake himself, and Bambam sighs, pitying whoever has to clean their mess the next day. Taking that as his sign to go to sleep, he stands up and goes over to ruffle Yugyeom's hair.</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m going back upstairs. Don’t try to clean anything, you’ll just ruin the carpet, okay?”</p>
<p>“Yes, your highness,” Yugyeom mocks his bossy tone, still laughing. He puts his plate back on the coffee table and stands up as well, looking relaxed for the first time. Bambam feels satisfied but also oddly flustered, and tries to take his leave as fast as possible. He turns around at the door, curling his toes inside his socks because he’s fighting back some kind of messy feeling, and looks up at Yugyeom, who snickers.</p>
<p>“You're so tiny, how many centimetres do you put on your heels?”</p>
<p>Bambam shrugs, amused because Yugyeom hasn't even seen the <em>really</em> high heels he only wears at parties.</p>
<p>“Thanks for having me tonight on a, you know, more… relaxed way.” He says, trying to keep his voice light.</p>
<p>“It’s been my pleasure.” Yugyeom nods, and he doesn't smile much, Bambam's noticed, most of the time his lips curve but he doesn't look like he’s genuinely smiling. He doesn’t smile now, either, and he looks down at Bambam over his nose, like the giant he is. “I’m glad you came over. Sleep well.” He bends down and kisses Bambam's forehead, an odd gesture, and Bambam tips up his chin to complain about being babied when he’s the oldest, but the words die on his throat when Yugyeom’s lips touch his own.</p>
<p>It’s a brief touch, but definitively a kiss; he can feel the searing burn of where Yugyeom’s bottom lip nested between his, the faint tickle of his breath against his own skin. His stomach drops and his heart loses its rhythm. He distantly realises his eyes are bulging and his body is shrinking back, but all his thoughts have zeroed on the rush he just felt.</p>
<p>It’s like an ice bucket has been thrown at his face at the same time a fire started in his gut.</p>
<p>“Wha— why d—”.</p>
<p>“You look so pretty right now, with your big shirt and your fuzzy socks, I just had to kiss you,” Yugyeom says, eyes a bit dark but face unchanged, still as laid back as he was on the armchair.</p>
<p>“Gyeom-ah, what the fuck are you thinking? This is <em>wrong</em>, we ar—”</p>
<p>“It’s just like you said, Bambam-ah.” He smiles for real now, and Bambam wishes he hadn’t. It’s evil. “We’re not brothers.”</p>
<p>A deep ache takes over Bambam’s body, and he feels his face crumbling, distantly hears a broken sound and feels Yugyeom's hands coming to hold his face, realises the sound came from him because he’s just choked back a sob. He can’t cry in front of Yugyeom, or anyone for that matter, and this is the only reason he allows Yugyeom to shush and tut at him, stroking his cheeks until his eyes are no longer glassy.</p>
<p>He feels faint, but not panicky. His moral standards are basically non-existent, but what bothers him is something deeper, more instinctive.</p>
<p>“Don’t use this against me,” he whispers, knowing he’s already lost and Yugyeom now owns him too.</p>
<p>“I won’t. That’s not what this is about,” Yugyeom says, still holding his face, and kisses him again, for longer this time. Bambam lets him, and he smiles again.</p>
<p>He’s barely out of boyhood but is already worse than Mark.</p>
<p>“What is it about, then?”</p>
<p>Yugyeom pulls him closer, and Bambam thinks that, much like with Mark, submission is the easiest way to get what he wants from him.</p>
<p>“It’s the pull, do you feel it? It’s always been there, this thing inside me, making me move because of you, <em>to</em> you. Have you ever felt it, too?” he asks, intensity colouring his words, changing his stony face.</p>
<p>Bambam shakes his head no, but he’s lying. He lets the pull take over him, guide his hands upwards, grab Yugyeom’s shoulders and pull him down. “So that’s what that was all about,” he says, face a millimetre away from Yugyeom’s, breath shallow.</p>
<p>“That’s what it <em>is</em> about.” Yugyeom answers and kisses him yet again, and this time he kisses back.</p>
<p>The kiss is tame, barely anything if compared to other things he has done, a gesture that only means anything because it’s with Yugyeom, and that bends and breaks him, awakes something raw inside of him, fills him to the brim with everything he’s never been able or wanted to be in. For the first time in his life, his heart breaks, because he loves Yugyeom as much as he loves himself, always has loved him this much; and as he comes to terms with that, he circles his arms around Yugyeom’s neck and deepens the kiss, letting himself be trapped against the door and devoured.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The way to make Mark click has always been dressing like a cheap whore and eating with his mouth open because Mark likes his men in tailored suits and downing champagne, just the way he likes to be in control of himself and of the situation. But the <em>thing</em> about Mark is that he’s a lie. He’s not one of those people who live and eventually snap, he’s angry all the time, simmering and biting back, and the only way to take him out of his shell is by putting him completely off.</p>
<p>Bambam suspects he used to be more impulsive and someone — probably Dom — eventually taught him how to control his fits. The control is faulty, though, and Park-nim knows it. He always sends Bambam over when he thinks Mark is about to explode, like tonight. All Bambam knows is some congressman they’re liaising with isn't cooperating as well as planned and Mark is taking all the blow, as usual. He doesn't know what the negotiation is about and doesn't truly care. He can see Mark’s irritation on the scattered papers and unfinished cigarettes in the office tables and walks up the stairs to the loft fully prepared. He’s not as prepared to find Yugyeom there but manages to stroll in like a perfect picture of nonchalance, even with Yugyeom's eyes ranking up and down his body. There’s way more skin out than usual, he’s wearing tiny jean shorts and a cut-out t-shirt, and he’s barefoot, too, because Mark is a short man and on heels, Bambam gets taller than him.</p>
<p>Mark isn't noticing him, but from the corner of his eye, he can see Yugyeom's searching gaze. He’s never seen Bambam so underdressed, for sure, with his makeup smudged and hair flopping around after he combed out the hair spray instead of washing it. It’s fun to look so cheap. Mark hates it, he can’t wait to see his reaction.</p>
<p>He decides to start big and puts his bare, dirty feet — he even went outside and rubbed them on the grass for full filthy effect — on the arm of the sofa Mark is sitting.</p>
<p>“Take your fucking feet off my couch,” Mark snarls without looking at him, in English.</p>
<p>English is Mark’s mother tongue, as in actual mother, the one he uses to speak with his family. Bambam learnt through the years, as they progressed and negotiated their relationship, that Mark using English means both comfort and rawness, means he can’t be bothered to think beyond his basics. He doesn't put his feet away. Instead, he presses a toe to Mark’s leg.</p>
<p>“Hey, hyung”, he singsongs. Yugyeom is burning a hole into his skull with his eyes.</p>
<p>“What are you even doing here, brat?”</p>
<p>“Hyungnim told me to tell you to drop it.”</p>
<p>That does the trick. Mark looks at him, fully meets his eyes for the first time and Bambam's appearance downs on him. Bambam chews loudly on a piece of gum, prods him with his toes again.</p>
<p>“What are you, his carrier pigeon?” Mark asks. The laptop is still open on his lap, but his eyes are glued to Bambam. Yugyeom's too. Bambam just shrugs. “Go make me a sandwich, or whatever.”</p>
<p>“Wanna me to put garbage in it to match your mood, hyung?”</p>
<p>The other <em>thing</em> about Mark is that, among everyone in the house, he’s the closest to Bambam. They’ve been partners since day one, they get along really well, they talk beyond amenities and they confide on each other on certain subjects. If Bambam let it be, they’d spend the night talking and drinking martinis, but there’s no use to martinis when Mark is in this state, so they have to play their opposites game, they have to crawl inside one another and address the real bitterness among them.</p>
<p>So, he walks away and into the kitchen dragging his feet, being everything he usually isn’t and always resents not being able to. The bigger apartments in the house have fully equipped kitchens, and a few minutes later Mark presses him to the counter with real intent, his suit trousers sliding against Bambam's thighs, his hand fisting on Bambam's frizzy hair.</p>
<p>“What about your sandwich, hyung?”, he asks, pretending to fight, but Mark, even on a fit of rage, still knows him all too well. “Or maybe some bourbon?”</p>
<p>“You’re really out for blood tonight, uh?”</p>
<p><em>Bourbon</em>, as they established a few years before, means go. <em>Vodka</em> means stop. It’s simple and safe, easy to get, and both of them can use. Mark smiles with his too-pointy-teeth and his psycho face is out to play in a blink, crashing over his cold mask of indifference. It gives anyone who witnesses it a fucking case of whiplash. “You’ll see the <em>bourbon</em> I’ll give you, you f—”</p>
<p>“Hyung.”</p>
<p>They both turn, startled. Bambam curses internally, berating himself for forgetting Yugyeom was there and Mark for not sending him away before going into the kitchen. He hates the deer on headlights effect Yugyeom has on him, how unpredictable he is. A living wild card against him. He hates it because he’s not used to having anyone against him, really. Jinyoung-ssi doesn't count, because he’s as predictable as a clock, and as much as he infuriates Bambam, on deeper levels he can’t profoundly affect his life. Yugyeom, on the other hand, might as well ruin him forever or turn all his hair into gold, for all he knows. The memory of their kiss is still fresh even after weeks, and he hates himself a bit for letting that happen, for allowing himself those feelings that make what he feels with Mark seem sweet and light-hearted by comparison.</p>
<p>“Yugyeom-ah, you look tired, let’s finish revision tomorrow afternoon, alright?”</p>
<p>Mark tries, but his voice isn't quite even. Yugyeom probably replies something, but Bambam ignores him in favour of blowing and popping a gum bubble right in Mark’s face. Yugyeom is barely out of the front door when Mark forces his mouth open to stick his fingers in, fishes out the gum and throws it in the sink, disgusted.</p>
<p>“You’re fucking nasty,” he says, dragging Bambam to the bedroom.</p>
<p>“Is your dick jealous of a piece of bubble-gum? I might chew it t—”</p>
<p>He doesn't get to finish, being shoved face-down on the bed.</p>
<p>“Shut up.”</p>
<p>“Make me.”</p>
<p>Unexpectedly, Mark backs away and sits on an armchair. He doesn't undress, he doesn't move at all, and Bambam is getting genuinely antsy now.</p>
<p>“I’d rather watch, today,” he says, the liar. He lies so well Bambam always gets turned on when he sees it.</p>
<p>“The fuck you don’t.”</p>
<p>“I’m too tired.”</p>
<p>Twisting his face on an ugly grimace, Bambam drags his legs up and rubs his soles on the pristine bedsheets. They leave twin dirt trails, but Mark doesn't react.</p>
<p>“I ain’t about to put no show for you, you ain’t no boss of mine.”</p>
<p>It’s supposed to be a role play, this behaviour, the dialect, but he knows all too well he’s just replaying his mannerisms from years ago, from his rent boy days. It’s liberating, in a way, to know after all the training and education he’s still the same. Mark probably realised it somewhere along the line, but they never talked about it.</p>
<p>Mark’s in a worse than expected mood, spiteful, unwilling to cooperate. Bambam could push some more, play around, but he’s spiteful too, excitement and something else boiling inside him, so he jumps from the bed and straddles Mark’s lap, rubs his own arse on his crotch like a bitch in heat.</p>
<p>“You’re disgusting”. Mark’s pulling a face, but he’s half-hard already, and he doesn’t mean it, he never does. What they do is basic role play and some banter, but Bambam suddenly remembers standing on his toes, pulling his arms closer, sucking on Yugyeom’s tongue. It’s disgusting, or it should be, but it hadn't felt disgusting, it felt good.</p>
<p>So Bambam <em>is</em> disgusting, but he doesn't want to be. He fights back the panic wave and snarls at Mark.</p>
<p>“Fuck you, you psycho”.</p>
<p>And he deserves what he gets, the rough push, the carpet burns on his nose and knees, the forceful smack on his jeans-clad arse. He kicks and complains for show, but he deserves it.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Later, he’s lying on his side, smoking. His arse hurts and his face still burns from one slap Mark landed across his cheek, and he doesn't know what fucked his throat up more: the cock sucking or the screaming. Mark is on the other side of the room, applying lotion to his own burning hand.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” he asks, and Bambam frowns, confused.</p>
<p>“‘Course I am.”</p>
<p>“You were particularly vicious today.”</p>
<p>“Don’t project yourself on me, hyung.” He laughs, successfully dismissing Mark’s concern.</p>
<p>He snubs the cigarette and starts moving, dreaming of a cold shower and sleeping naked, but halfway across the mattress to his shirt lying on the floor, he changes his mind and plops face down on the foot of the bed.</p>
<p>“Hell, I can’t walk.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“My muscles feel like jelly and my arse is ruined, don’t know if you’ve seen it, hyung”.</p>
<p>“Don’t sass me”.</p>
<p>He rolls on the sheets, stretching like a cat.</p>
<p>“Ugh, your shower doesn’t even have a <em>bench</em>, what am I going to do?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know… shut your mouth?”</p>
<p>“Don’t be rude”, he smiles, and Mark smiles back. Sighing, he stands up and walks into Mark’s en suite, mumbling about old men with no taste just to make Mark laugh because Bambam himself did the last renovations on this loft. The cold water soothes some of the sting on his skin and he lets his eyes fall closed, forces himself to relax and be able to sleep on a bed that’s not his own, because like hell he’s gonna walk back to his apartment and face the ninety-nine-per cent chance of Yugyeom being on the corridor downstairs waiting for him.</p>
<p>It’s always nice to sleep with Mark because he’s a silent and heavy sleeper, never bothered by Bambam’s tossing and turning, and he sleeps on his back and tucked in like the good boy he definitely isn’t. It’s comfortable, too, because they never cuddle, just lay next to each other and sleep. The morning after is like every other day, except for how Mark makes him stay still while he checks his body for any damage because, for all the insanity act they pull for each other in bed, when push comes to shove, Mark can’t hide how much he cares.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>YUGYEOM</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>“What are you doing?” he asks, amused by Bambam's annoyed mumbling.</p>
<p>They’re in Bambam’s closet, surrounded by mirrored doors and large vanities.</p>
<p>“I swear someone in the house staff can’t read. I put a label saying ‘dry-clean only’ on a shirt and they wash it on fucking warm water.”</p>
<p>There’s no actual reason for Yugyeom to be there, he just followed Bambam upstairs when he invited him up for to have coffee but Yugyeom’s yet to see any drinks, they’ve only been drifting between rooms while R&amp;B music plays from the speakers embed on the walls. He walks around absentmindedly, opening random doors and picking up bottles from the vanity while Bambam fusses on the far end, closer to the door leading to the living room.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you have a personal servant to take care of your things?”</p>
<p>“I wish, that’s al— fucking <em>hell</em> what have they done to my fucking <em>Tom Ford</em> suit?”</p>
<p>Yugyeom stifles a laugh at Bambam clutching a piece of clothing in his hands like a desperate woman on a cheap play.</p>
<p>“Is it ruined?” he asks just to see if Bambam's voice can get any deeper because he’s already growling.</p>
<p>“It’s— I— I can’t even.” He drops the clothes on the floor. “Fucking dickhead.”</p>
<p>“Who?” Yugyeom asks lightly.</p>
<p>“Jinyoung-ssi! I swear I’m gonna bleach his Armani shirts next time, this has to stop, I’m maki—”</p>
<p>Yugyeom gives up and doubles over with laugher using the vanity counter for support. Bambam strides back to him and slaps his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Fuck you, I’m serious”.</p>
<p>“Babe, I know you are,” he says, “but you're being so dramatic!”</p>
<p>“What else do you expect me to be? I got that suit for my birthday, I <em>loved</em> it!”</p>
<p>“Alright, alright.” He turns around, realising he just called Bambam “babe”, a term of endearment he’s never used unironically before but fits Bambam like one of his tailored shirts. “Come here,” he calls, but Bambam walks away to rummage through another part of the closet. “Fine, how do you know it was Jinyoung-hyung?”</p>
<p>“Because it’s happened before, idiot, or did you think I antagonise him for kicks? He’s always been a bitch to me.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom picks up the pile of clothes from the floor and upon inspection, the suit is indeed ruined, the colours all smeared together and the fabric looking lifeless. He frowns, wondering what makes those people so drastic, and looks up to ask Bambam about it, but Bambam is undressing, pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his whole chest and back, undoing his belt and trousers.</p>
<p>“You do realise I'm still here, right?”, he asks, eyes travelling up and down Bambam's nearly naked body.</p>
<p>“Oh, come on,” Bambam scoffs, “as if you haven't seen me naked thousand times since we wer—” he chokes on his words, startled when Yugyeom goes over and puts his arms around him. “What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Remember what you said? We're not related, I didn’t know you.”</p>
<p>“You sure know how to punish me, don't you?”</p>
<p>“Does it feel like punishment?” Yugyeom asks, sliding his hands up and down Bambam's waist. He has quite a delicate body, all slim muscle and narrow hips, and such smooth skin, too. Yugyeom feels the goosebumps under his fingers, hears the soft sigh Bambam releases. He smiles and kisses the back of Bambam's slender neck.</p>
<p>“Fuck.” Bambam curses, closing his eyes.</p>
<p>“Don't be too forward, we’ve barely kissed. Do you want me to stop? I’ll stop.”</p>
<p>He looks up, meeting their reflection on a mirror. Bambam is flushed and still has his eyes firmly closed, but his body looks relaxed and Yugyeom can feel the weight on his chest where he leans back against him. He spans his hand over Bambam's stomach, feeling the baby soft skin and the taut muscles underneath, and briefly wonders how the insides of his tights must feel like.</p>
<p>“No, keep going.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom always found it difficult to show affection but with Bambam it comes naturally, and with a fluid motion he presses closer, wraps Bambam's waist with one arm and lets his other hand travel, touch feather light because Bambam's ticklish, shivers easily and sighs while his body trembles.</p>
<p>“What were you looking for?” Yugyeom asks, remembering they came inside the closet for a reason.</p>
<p>“I have to pick tomorrow’s outfits, we’re going out, so I was thinking a silk—” he shivers again, body bending a little, so his entire backside is glued to Yugyeom's front, “silk shirt.”</p>
<p>Just a foot away from them is a row of hangers with silk pieces, Yugyeom's eyes land on something longer than a shirt and he pulls it out, the fabric like water, cascading off the hanger onto his hand.</p>
<p>“What about this?”</p>
<p>“That’s a robe, not a shirt.”</p>
<p>“Can you try it now? I like it.”</p>
<p>Bambam's face on the mirror looks puzzled, but he steps out of Yugyeom's arms and puts the robe on when it’s handed to him. It’s dark blue, with a pattern of something made of warm colours, probably flowers, but Yugyeom can’t really tell because he’s focusing on the way the colours and the texture make Bambam's skin tone glow.</p>
<p>“See? You have to wear it over other clothes, not as a shirt.”</p>
<p>“Well, <em>you</em> can wear it over nothing.”</p>
<p>Bambam snorts and shrugs.</p>
<p>“I suppose.”</p>
<p>“Can I kiss you now?” asks Yugyeom, stepping forward to pinch the silk between his thumb and forefinger to feel it properly. Bambam's chest is rising and falling fast.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he says, and wraps his arms around Yugyeom's neck like last time, pressing close consciously now.</p>
<p>Yugyeom slides his hand down his back, frustrated because the silk lets him feel everything underneath, but he wants <em>more</em>, his breath getting choppy because this — whatever emotion it is — is exhilarating, a bliss that strikes deeper and more addicting than any kind of drug he’s ever tried. He kisses deeper, pulls Bambam closer, sucks on his bottom lip to hear him moan out loud, but stops.</p>
<p>“Turn around,” he requests, and Bambam goes back to facing the mirror, moaning again when Yugyeom slides the robe down one of his shoulders and starts kissing him there. He tips his head, offering his neck, and presses his arse to Yugyeom crotch, all while looking at him straight in the eye in the mirror, skin flushed and sweaty, lips parted.</p>
<p>“Yugyeom-ah.” He sighs, and Yugyeom kisses him right under his ear, tastes the salt of the sweat gathering there.</p>
<p>“You're so soft,” he murmurs, rubbing his face against Bambam's skin and pressing his nose against the bottom of his neck because he smells delicious. “I want to kiss all over you.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Bambam says, very low like they’re on a very small place. Yugyeom takes his hands but soon slides back up to his wrists. They're thin, but don’t feel like they're made of glass.</p>
<p>“I want to find out,” he confesses, in between kisses, “if your thighs are softer than your wrists.”</p>
<p>Bambam makes a wordless sound and Yugyeom is honestly surprised with his own forwardness, because although he still hasn't touched Bambam below the waist, it already feels so intimate, like they’ve always had this, like he never went away. He closes his eyes, enjoying how relaxed he feels with Bambam in his arms, but a second later something beeps on the living room and Bambam steps away hurriedly, looking pale and startled.</p>
<p>“Hyungnim’s back already?” he mumbles, eyeing the door leading to the living room. They hear steps and Park-nim’s voice.</p>
<p>“Sugar, where are you?” he calls out, and Yugyeom's mouth twists.</p>
<p>“I'm gonna take him to the bedroom, okay? You wait a little then go out through the living room, the front door doesn’t beep when you open it from the inside,” Bambam whispers, face already different, no longer the blissful expression he had because of Yugyeom, nor ashen like he was just now. “Sorry,” he says, smiling a little then running out, closing the door to the bedroom without looking back.</p>
<p>After a few seconds, Yugyeom follows on his steps, stopping by the door. A sliver of it was left open, just a crack where it didn't fully roll to meet the frame. Bambam’s on the other side, still dressed on the robe Yugyeom picked, opening the bedroom’s door and calling out to Park-nim, who appears a second later already without his suit jacket and tie.</p>
<p>“I thought you were coming back tomorrow morning?” Bambam asks, reaching up to undo the boss’ collar, making Yugyeom’s insides roll unpleasantly.</p>
<p>“Well, I'm early.” He was probably avoiding something, a trap of some sort, Yugyeom knows that, and Bambam smiles like he knows too. “You look… undressed.”</p>
<p>“Yeah…”</p>
<p>“What were you up to?” his tone goes from casual to a leer, and Bambam shrugs demurely, plastering himself to him.</p>
<p>“Having some fun while prepping for tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Can I join on some of that fun?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, sir, the preparations aren’t quite done yet.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom doesn’t know why he ignores Bambam’s instructions about waiting and doors and instead stays just where he is and <em>watches</em> too as Bambam takes off the rest of his clothing — the robe Yugyeom chose discarded as a glossy pile on the floor — as he presses himself to the boss and <em>talks</em> and <em>touches</em>. He listens to Bambam’s sounds and his eyes follow the drops of sweat sliding down Bambam’s back as he moves up and down. When Bambam is done it’s nothing sweet, it’s a little storm and what looks like earthquakes shaking him from the inside. Yugyeom closes his eyes and commits it to memory, thinking about what he has to do to be that earthquake.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Those people are... cute, right? Not gonna lie, Mark and Bambam's dynamics are my favoutite part; so vicious and yet so caring, truly a match made in Hell.</p>
<p>The song for this chapter is Dance Little Liar by the Arctic Monkeys. Fine song, fine lyrics, one hundred per cent Bambam's theme.</p>
<p>Thank you all for being here — we're halfway through the chapters now! Please leave a comment if you can 💚</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Furtive Betrayal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy new year that feels just like the year before because why won't this hellish pandemic end? But really, I hope you all had peaceful holidays, and can stay in good health in 2021. Thank you so much for being here 💚</p><p>Oh, and as I said in the comments, the face I "borrowed" to imagine Park-nim was actor Kim Kangwoo's — he's in his early forties, so Park would be a little older, but he's seriously handsome and has the dignified looks the Park clan is supposed to carry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <strong>BAMBAM</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>It took years for Bambam to admit it to himself, but he’d always been afraid of Yugyeom. It wasn't like the fear he had of violent clients or the weird bald kids who walked around beating up people in alleys. After that many years he realises it was like the fear he had of the police: something ominous, silent, never quite reaching him but breathing down his neck like a hungry beast. Back when he was a teenager he couldn't understand why, but now he understands all too well as he stands by a window watching Yugyeom and Mark walk from the car to the annexe’s door brushing dry leaf fragments off their coats. He sees the way Yugyeom towers over Mark and that purpose in his eyes that gives Bambam an urge to put a leash on him before it’s too late. But it’s already too late.</p><p>At dinner everyone is so talkative Bambam can afford to be silent for once. He watches Mark play with his food and pretend to eat, Jaebeom and hyungnim talk politics, Jinyoung fawn over Yugyeom. He hears their voices but doesn't take part in any conversations.</p><p>“A special night?”, he hears Jinyoung say.</p><p>“It’s my mum’s birthday, but she’s living in New York,” Yugyeom replies, and Bambam is speaking before he can hold himself back.</p><p>“What’s the time over there right now?”</p><p>“Early morning. But I always call her late mornings, after she’s done with the baby, even if it’s already late for me.”</p><p>Jinyoung smiles agreeably and Bambam forces a smile too, avoiding Yugyeom’s eyes.</p><p>*</p><p>Mark does him a favour and calls him over because he can’t find something in the office and the only person able to understand his mess is Bambam, but sadly it isn’t a ploy and Mark is, in fact, working, not high off his arse and wanting to fuck. That has Bambam standing in the annexe in the middle of the night, right where Yugyeom finds him, and he has no excuse to avoid being dragged into Yugyeom’s rooms.</p><p>“I was just about to call mum”, he says, as if it means nothing, “lucky I found you.”</p><p>Bambam has no idea how that could be luck, but he stays silent on his spot on the sofa, physical obedience coming easy as usual for him. Throughout the call he sits there, mouth shut, perfectly still, listening intently not to the words being said, just to the colour of their voices. They still talk in Korean, and their mother’s voice sounds different for some reason besides the long-distance call. He objectively knows she’s less tired, better fed, healthier too, but there’s something about her as if she’s being careful to always say the right thing.</p><p>Yugyeom's voice, on the other hand, sounds syrupy sweet, soft like a child’s voice, very unlike his usual speech. It makes Bambam wonder how many of his own traits exist in Yugyeom but he’s never had the chance to see them before. Yugyeom talks like he’s coaxing his mother into something, a bit pleading, and whatever it is, she doesn't relent, but he ends the call with that too-still smile on his face. It looks like he learnt how to make it from a book, which is entirely possible because Bambam can’t recall Yugyeom actually smiling, showing his teeth, as a child or a teenager.</p><p>Then suddenly all of his attention is on Bambam, who steels himself and continues to sit still, refusing to pretend he’s able to relax.</p><p>“Pity the baby wasn't with her, innit? Bet you'd love to listen to her”, Yugyeom says.</p><p>“Sure, but it’s alright, I don’t particularly like babies.”</p><p>It’s the truth. He’s never cared, before, and wasn't trained to like them, either, because companions aren't nannies and if they ever have their master’s children, they get nannies of their own. Yugyeom doesn't seem to know how to respond to this. He stands up and asks Bambam if he wants some coffee.</p><p>“Not really. Sadly, you don’t have any brandy.”</p><p>Yugyeom has his back turned to him, but Bambam can see how uneasy he’s feeling now, which serves him right. Bambam is slowly learning how to handle him, and it feels like learning how to handle a scalding object.</p><p>“I can get it from the office, Mark-hyung always has some around.”</p><p>“I’d love it, Gyeomie. The one from the long green bottle, please.”</p><p>When Yugyeom comes back he opens the bottle and sniffs it before leaving it on the coffee table.</p><p>“I don’t know how you drink this stuff.”</p><p>“It’s an acquired taste.”</p><p>“And where did you acquire it from?”</p><p>“Training, and from Mark-hyung, too. Hyungnim drinks a lot of scotch but I think it’s too bitter.”</p><p>They stay silent for a long while, Bambam sipping, Yugyeom standing between the living room and the kitchenette and looking intently at him.</p><p>“If you want me to go just say so, I’m too used to waiting to be dismissed, can’t pick up on social cues like that anymore”, he says, fingers playing on the rim of the tiny glass Yugyeom gave him.</p><p>“You seem oddly <em>not</em> distressed.”</p><p>“And why would I be distressed?”</p><p>Yugyeom nods, once, and sits on the armrest of the sofa.</p><p>“I see how it is. Are you doing anything tonight?”</p><p>Bambam doesn't look up, but he sees the trap. Hyungnim is home, he can lie for an easy way out, but maybe that’s what Yugyeom is expecting. He watches the trap being laid right in front of him, but strangely, he <em>likes</em> it, feels exhilarated to fall for it.</p><p>“Not really”, he replies, playing dumb. Soon enough there’s a large hand prying the glass from his fingers and pulling him to his feet.</p><p>“I keep thinking about that night in your closet”, Yugyeom whispers, bending down to look into his eyes. “About—”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>He hums, hands on Yugyeom’s chest, fingers dancing around the collar of his t-shirt.</p><p>“You said a lot of things, Yugyeom-ah, but never acted on them.”</p><p>“You want me to?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>It’s amazing how there’s no awkwardness between them. Even with Mark, his all-time best partner, Bambam experienced some awkwardness in the beginning because he is Bambam’s favourite hyung and his business partner, but after all, it was just sex and Mark has some interesting preferences, definitively the best spanking hand Bambam’s ever found.</p><p>Park-nim is one of those lavish people with an ego so big he gets off from making the other person come, and Bambam’s always fully exploited it. He’s creative, has his kinks well figured out and equal amounts of determination and patience, so after a while Bambam learnt to sit back and enjoy the ministrations, never needing to fake orgasms or think about hardcore porn while at it, like he’s once heard Yubin telling Yeeun at some birthday party.</p><p>With Yugyeom things <em>flow</em> like water or fine silk blend, and he doesn’t feel like he has to put up a performance. He doesn’t need anything else besides his material existence to make Yugyeom moan in his mouth, to have him naked and eager, hair matted to his sweaty forehead as Bambam rides him on the same fucking sofa he sat on when they first talked in that room. He feels feverish with the realisation he can do <em>anything</em> with Yugyeom, with how compatible they are, a little delirious at the irony of it all. He stops hallways through, lights a cigarette, slides the condom off Yugyeom's cock and sucks him off for a bit until the thrill has subsided. Then he puts another condom on him and rides until he comes, not even checking for reactions, something he’s probably never done before.</p><p>After, Yugyeom lights one of his hideous Camels and Bambam opens the brandy again, still sitting on Yugyeom's lap. He is sticky with sweat and come, but again, he doesn’t feel disguising, he doesn’t know why. Why he only seems to catch up to reality when he’s away from Yugyeom, when something else calls him out on his behaviour.</p><p>It doesn’t feel like a first time, how easy it was, how comfortable they are with each other in absolute silence. There is no pillow talk, no idle chatter as Bambam walks to the bathroom and back to pick up his clothes. Yugyeom just watches him blandly, not eerily blank but not showing any emotion. It should feel ground-breaking, he just fucked his own brother, but it’s as natural as going to sleep after a long day.</p><p>When he’s looking decent enough, he bends down and kisses Yugyeom again, finding it funny how Camels don’t taste as disgusting when coming from his mouth.</p><p>“Is the house empty?” Yugyeom asks.</p><p>“Probably, but if anyone sees me, they’ll assume I’m coming back from Mark and not ask.”</p><p>Yugyeom's face darkens and Bambam bites his tongue.</p><p>“How many people are you fucking, exactly?”</p><p>“It’s my job, Gyeom-ah.”</p><p>His face darks even more, further proving how he’d react if Bambam ever told him the truth about when they still lived in Daegu and he worked on the streets.</p><p>“How many?”</p><p>“Park-nim, Mark-hyung. Jaebeom-hyung sometimes comes around, but not as often for the last couple of years.”</p><p>“He’s engaged to Jinyoung-hyung.”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure he knows that Yugyeom-ah, but he doesn’t care.”</p><p>“Does Park-nim know?”</p><p>“Yes, I tell him.”</p><p>“Are you going to tell him about me, too?”</p><p>Bambam halts. He knows fucking Mark is what hyungnim wants him to do, and fucking Jaebeom is just something they both bear with because it still fits his job description, with Jaebeom being head of security and Park-nim's left hand. Yugyeom, on the other hand, is just Yugyeom, some boy Mark hired to do his job while he spends money and plots assassinations. It doesn't feel the same, and he knows it wouldn't look the same to hyungnim's eyes.</p><p>“Probably not, no.”</p><p>Yugyeom smiles, and Bambam closes his eyes, cursing himself for not realising sooner where the real trap was.</p><p>*</p><p>Hyungnim never hired a butler, like other bosses usually do. Firstly, because he is too paranoid to willingly have someone in charge of his schedule and knowing his every move, and secondly because he likes to look independent and self-assertive. Bambam never complained, because he’s sure he'd hate to deal with some old stuffy man controlling his master's and his own life, even if it meant less work for him. As it is, the house itself is managed by Yoora, Youngjae's mother, but all the other things, the uncountable small issues that surround Park-nim's private and semi-public life, are to be managed by Bambam in whatever time he has between always looking flawless, keeping himself alive and attending to the horny men that own him.</p><p>“You're so thin, are you eating, child?”</p><p>He raises his head, a little startled by Yoora's question. They are on the servant quarters, below the main level of the house. It’s warm in there, because the kitchen is on the other side of the wall, and despite the central heating Bambam usually feels cold in his rooms when winter approaches, one of the only moments he doesn’t enjoy being on his own.</p><p>“I'm alright”, he answers trying for his most reassuring voice, but she still shakes her head.</p><p>“I'll call for a doctor appointment, alright? We have to take care of you, too.”</p><p>Among all the slaves in the house, old and young, the one Bambam feels closer to is Yoora. She'd been serving the family her whole life, but she isn’t the type to take sides. If the master - or the young master, as she calls Jinyoung - needs her, she goes. If Bambam or Jihyo need her, she goes as well, making no distinction between masters, free employees and slaves. Her nature is caring, and Bambam often wonders how much of the trait is originally hers and how much came from caring for a child as sickly as Youngjae had been. Regardless, he likes her.</p><p>“Those arrived today. I've already delivered the young master's”, she says, handing him two envelopes. “This one is addressed to the master, and the other to Mark-nim, are you going to the annexe any time soon?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m spending the morning there, by the way, so give me a call me if something happens”, he inspects the envelopes some more, already guessing what they are about. “Thank you, noona.”</p><p>She bows minutely to him, and he bows back just as discreetly because slaves — no matter their age or ranking — can’t be addressed in honorifics or be bowed to, they are not <em>people</em> to deserve such respect. But Bambam and Yoora have always done it if they are away from prying eyes, it’s their little secret.</p><p>He heads up to the garden and crosses over to the annexe, cursing at the cold wind hitting his uncovered and sensitive face, making him mourn the gorgeous tan he got in the summer. After stepping inside, he curses some more, not particularly looking forward to his monthly task of taking care of Mark’s finances. Mark isn't incapable of caring for them on his own, and he definitively can afford an accountant, but he’s never trusted anyone from outside the house, and his judgement about his own money has always been askew, leading to many crises that could be perfectly avoided if he had self-control or discipline. Besides, Bambam is known for his golden finger.</p><p>When he comes into the office Mark is alone on his favourite armchair, smoking and looking contemplative.</p><p>“Aren’t you cold?”, he asks.</p><p> Bambam raises an eyebrow, annoyed, and hands over one of the envelopes.</p><p>“Arrived today. One for hyungnim, one for you, one for the happy couple.”</p><p>He watches Mark's eyes run over the paper, catching up the date and the dress code of the party, the request for a plus one.</p><p>“Who are you taking this time?” Bambam asks and it’s Mark's turn to raise his eyebrows. “What?”</p><p>“<em>Who</em> am I taking, Bam?”</p><p>“Your— oh! Fuck, right,” Bambam smiles, repressing his nervousness.</p><p>The envelope holds an official invitation from Kim-nim’s household to his son Chanyeol’s birthday party at the end of the month. It would be the first major event of the second semester on their social circle after the huge triple birthday party Park-nim traditionally holds in September was laid off because Jinyoung went on a trip with Jaebeom, Mark doesn't like hosting on his own and Youngjae couldn't host because he is a <em>slave</em>.</p><p>Months before, on the week leading to Park-nim’s birthday in July, he and Mark went out to choose gifts. Just as Bambam parked in front of his favourite jewellery boutique Mark cleared his throat.</p><p>“Let’s get dinner later?”</p><p>“Sure, just call the house to let Yoora know,” Bambam replied, looking at him sideways. His voice was a little off, but he looked fine.</p><p>Bambam chose a flimsy tie pin in the shape of a golden bird with diamond eyes, while Mark chose the cuff links from the same collection.</p><p>“Matching gifts?” he asked, and Mark nodded airily.</p><p>“You’ll get it.”</p><p>Puzzled, but unconcerned, Bambam followed him back to the car and under his instruction, drove them to a new restaurant by the mountains. The place was so big each table had a sofa, a side table and a koi pond, and their privacy was absolute. The view was amazing, but Bambam felt like Mark hadn’t invited him to appreciate the experience.</p><p>“What’s bothering you, hyung?”</p><p>“Listen,” Mark played around with his chopsticks, unusually nervous. “I need you to answer me as honestly as you can.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“In six years, on your birthday, you’ll be freed and given your market value in cash,” he took a breath, watching Bambam’s reaction. “What do you plan to do afterwards?”</p><p>Bambam had thought of a million things: of Daegu, of looking for his mother, of Jackson and Jamie, of finally settling his affairs. But he thought of after that, of what purpose a life as defined by dependency as his would have when he was finally freed of all ties.</p><p>“I’ll probably, I don’t know, visit my family. But I’ve got no dreams or anything,” he said, honestly clueless.</p><p>“Will you marry me?”</p><p>Bambam incredulously looked across the table and laughed with his whole chest, but when he realised Mark wasn’t laughing along, he swallowed his amusement at the sudden proposal and took a sip of his sake.</p><p>“Alright, lay your offer, hyung. What’s in it for me?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t like owning you, but I think we’re good together,” Mark said, and Bambam couldn’t deny he was right. “I’d like to have you close for when I’m boss.”</p><p>It had never been official until then, that Mark was the heir. Only in the back of his mind Bambam knew Mark had access to things Jaebeom didn’t even dream of; and noticed the very nature of their relationship was a big clue of who Park-nim though would be his successor.</p><p>“Cool. But in the more immediate future, what would be married to you entail?” he fiddled with his rings. “Obviously, I’d have to work us into looking like a unified front if you’re going against Jaebeom-hyung and Jinyoung-ssi, and keep your money as usual, but what else? Because I’m not thrilled about being nice to your lawyer friends, they’re all psychos.”</p><p>“I’m sure you’ll be too busy with your celebrity friends to have the time to see my colleagues. I want you for— the stability. You’re a freak of nature, you know that? Half a decade of slavery and you refuse to be broken in. You were bought to be hyungnim’s greatest gift to me, as part of the inheritance, but I told him I have no business being your master.”</p><p>“You <em>love</em> being my master when you’re inspired, hyung,” he smirked, swirling the sake in its porcelain cup.</p><p>“That’s different, you filthy bastard.”</p><p>“No, I get it. I think.”</p><p>“Will you consider it?”</p><p>Frustrated, Bambam put his cheek on his hand and sighed. The platinum of the ring Mark had given him dug into his skin.</p><p>“If you answer me as honestly as you can.”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>“Why do you need <em>me</em> to have stability?”</p><p>Mark’s pretty lips twisted; his eyes cast down. In sex, he was a game of repression and violence. In friendship, he was a fierce protectiveness that sometimes made Bambam think of Jackson. In his own skin, he was this mulish hesitancy that hindered the rest of his personality.</p><p>“I need a way to stay afloat because even— even if I stop caring, Jisung needs me alive and whole.”</p><p>“Jisung?” Bambam asked, coaxing.</p><p>“My son.”</p><p>“You have a <em>son</em>? Since when do you have a son? Where have you been hiding this child, for fuck’s sake?” he frowned, trying to remember pieces of information he might have ignored through the years.</p><p>“He lives with his mother in California, he’s fourteen now. Close to turning thirteen, in international age.”</p><p>“You’re what now, thirty-five? You had him when you were twenty-one? How did you even manage that?”</p><p>“That’s the thing, Bam, I didn’t. Still don’t. He was an accident, Rachel, that’s his mother, only told me she was pregnant after I had moved to Korea,” he pauses, thoughtful. “She wanted me to go back to her, but it was her father who got me this job under Park-nim, and he told me to stay here.”</p><p>“Who’s her father?”</p><p>“The Han, you’ve never met him, but probably heard the boss mention their family.”</p><p>Bambam nodded. The Han had been a boss in the eighties, enormously successful until he was betrayed and left the country to never return, eventually settling in America. Hyungnim mentioned him often, always with the utmost respect.</p><p>“So, you had a kid with, essentially, mob royalty.”</p><p>“You could put it that way.”</p><p>“Do you expect me to be his step-mummy or…”</p><p>“No,” Mark shook his head, “no, I expect you to— to help me stay sharp enough to keep Jisung safe.”</p><p>It was an odd reason to marry someone. Mark was, at best, a Russian roulette: Bambam wasn’t stupid, he knew a life comprised of money, blood and drugs made that to a person, and being a parent, under those circumstances, would be messy business. Still, he couldn’t see why <em>he</em> would ever be necessary to keep a grown man afloat.</p><p>“Meaning you don’t trust his mother?” he asked, stalling. Mark was tricky to read, needed proper decoding before being taken at face value.</p><p>“I don’t trust anyone.”</p><p>“But you’re trusting me.”</p><p>And there it was, the look over the porcelain sake cup, the piece of information that completed the puzzle of that conversation. Bambam held the look for a few seconds, putting the ideas together. It wasn’t like he could trust anyone else, either.</p><p>“Alright,” he said.</p><p>Mark nodded, putting the cup down.</p><p>“We have years, yet. You don’t have to give me an answer just now.”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter. I’ll do it.”</p><p>Bambam meant it. He knows himself and that there isn’t and there will never be a better option for him than a man he knows well, and figures wouldn’t ask of him things he isn’t willing to give. But still, he and Mark spent the last months stalling to telegraph the world where they stand for one another. And now, Yugyeom is in the picture as well.</p><p>“Remember, no high heels”, Mark says from the armchair, waving Kim’s invitation in the air, smoke dribbling from his lips.</p><p>“For fuck's sake, hyung, you can't—”</p><p>“We have to look like a ‘unified front’, your words, remember? So, play your part and look like the good boy you are for me.”</p><p>“I can't believe I'm committing to a whole life of no high heels just because you're shorter tha—”, Bambam stops abruptly, catching Yugyeom’s arrival. Mark doesn’t.</p><p>“I'm not shorter than you and I’ve already sworn to wear insoles to our wedding, Bammie dear.”</p><p>Bambam chuckles, avoids looking at Yugyeom by walking further into the office and settling down on Mark’s desk, but still watches as he bows to Mark and opens his laptop on a tea table.</p><p>“So, your birthday,” Mark says abruptly, startling both Bambam and Yugyeom. “Are you planning something, Yugyeom-ah?”</p><p>Bambam does his best to look disinterested, opening Mark’s laptop and looking for the personal folder, but as convincing as his act is, Yugyeom doesn’t help it by blatantly turning to glance at him.</p><p>“Not really, hyung. We didn’t celebrate when I was a kid and I never had the time for it in college”.</p><p>“Nothing? Not even gifts?”</p><p>“My mother usually sends something over, but apart from that, no. I mean, for the last two years Junhong-hyung took me out the night before, but that’s it.”</p><p>Mark doesn’t say anything, and Bambam doesn’t know if he nods or something because he’s punching numbers in the spreadsheet as fast as he can to avoid thinking too much.</p><p>“Kim’s party is on this month’s last weekend, what do you think, Bambam?”</p><p>Eyes still glued to the screen, Bambam frowns.</p><p>“What do I think of what?”</p><p>“It’s an opportunity for Yugyeomie to celebrate as well, isn’t it?”</p><p>He knows it’s only logical to take Yugyeom to the party since the whole reason he is in that room is that he’s meant to take over Mark’s position sometime in the future, but he supposes knowing is a far cry from liking it.</p><p>“Of course, hyung.” He raises his head, avoids Mark’s eyes because he knows Bambam well enough to catch a lie like that, and has no choice but to look at Yugyeom.</p><p>Their eyes meet, both cautiously vacant but knowing. It’s the same look Yugyeom used to give him when he came back home late smelling of Jackson’s cologne and with his makeup smudged, and no number of years of training could avoid how <em>humiliated</em> he feels under it. Yugyeom takes the invitation from Mark, reads it over, nods. Suddenly aware of how intensely he’s been looking at him for the last half-minute, Bambam snaps his attention back to the screen in front of him, eyes immediately catching on something on the bottom and making him frown.</p><p>“This doesn't add up,” he mumbles no one in particular, sliding the mouse to check the text file Mark messily put down his expenses.</p><p>“Yes, it does.”</p><p>He snaps his head back up at Mark’s voice, frown settling deeper. Immediately taking offence and answering something so inconspicuous is at least suspicious of Mark, but when he realises what amount exactly is wrong it makes sense. Still, he reviews the entire spreadsheet, pulls up his phone's calculator. It's not adding up and he knows exactly why.</p><p>“Mark-hyung, you have to give me the real amounts.”</p><p>“Those are real.”</p><p>“No, they’re not,” he insists, sighing.</p><p>“You're doing something wrong, double check.”</p><p>“Already did.”</p><p>“Then triple check.”</p><p>“Could you stop?” Bambam demands, a little louder. From the corner of his eye, he sees Yugyeom's face turned to his laptop screen, where Bambam can see his spreadsheet open.</p><p>“Mark-hyung, he’s right, it doesn't—”, Yugyeom surprisingly chimes in.</p><p>“Well, of course it doesn't, because Bambam here is doing something wrong!”</p><p>Exasperated, Bambam stands and walks up to them, puts his hands on the arm of Mark's chair. They just glare at each other for a while, but it's a lost cause. If Yugyeom wasn’t in the room he could appeal to other tactics, but he doesn’t want a scene.</p><p>“What are you doing? Trying to kill yourself?” he finally asks.</p><p>Mark scoffs and waves his hand like he's dismissing Bambam.</p><p>“Back off, I'm not doing anything out of the usual.”</p><p>“The numbers don't add up, which means you are buying more, taking more. Where is it?”</p><p>“Could <em>you</em> stop, brat?”</p><p>“Do I have to rummage through your drawers and throw all the dope in the toilet like last time? No? So gimme the numbers.”</p><p>“Figure them yourself if you're so clever.”</p><p>Stepping back, Bambam looks around the room, eyes landing on Yugyeom, who's still on the same position. Fucking useless loaded gun of a boy.</p><p>“Gyeom-ah”, he calls out, “is there a drawer or compartment of some sort in this room that's locked but you don't have the key?”</p><p>“Third one from the bottom on the cupboard to your right.”</p><p>“Thank you, Gyeomie. Mark-hyung, it's either the real <em>right</em> numbers or me breaking down that whole cupboard. Your choice.”</p><p>“Why would I care for a cupboard? I'm not you, I don’t care for the fucking furniture,” Mark mumbles but starts writing down the number on his legal paper pad. He knows all too well Bambam will throw away any drugs he finds, they've been there before. Bambam takes the paper and looks down at it for a while. Now the spreadsheet will add up, but he has an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Coming closer, he crouches in front of Mark, voice low.</p><p>“This is not the usual. If you—”, he stops himself from saying what he actually wants to. But between them, there is no real need to say all the words for the meaning to get across. “If you ruin <em>us</em> because you're a fucking drug addict... I swear I’ll kill you myself.”</p><p>Mark laughs cynically, pats him on the head.</p><p>“I know you’re no killer, Bammie. Everything is under control.”</p><p>“Just <em>please</em> think of us.”</p><p>Yugyeom’s eyes are burning holes on the back of his head, so Bambam rises, walks back to the desk, types the new number and closes the file, too annoyed to keep looking at the “<em>entertainment</em>” line of the spreadsheet. Sitting back, he reaches into his pocket and lights a cigarette.</p><p>“So, the party,” he says, voice light and carrying none of the emotion it just had. “I was thinking something Italian again, last time you wore Dolce, remember?”</p><p>“Just don't pick Armani, Jinyoungie always chooses them for Jaebeom-ssi,” Mark says evenly, but Bambam can still see the tension on his neck.</p><p>“Fine. But do you agree with Italian?” he asks, and Mark nods, “I'll have to pull so much talk to schedule the fittings, fucking hell. Suppose I'll just send hyungnim off to that tailor he likes. Can't be bothered to fight him over clothes this time.”</p><p>“What are you getting?”</p><p>“Some independent designer. If I can't wear heels, I have to stand out some other way, and everyone will probably wear European brands.”</p><p>“I suppose.”</p><p>“What about Yugyeom?”</p><p>“What about him?” asks Mark, the same moment Yugyeom questions: “What about me?”</p><p>“What designer do you like? Might as well schedule you while I'm at it.”</p><p>“You don't have to; I've got plenty of good suits.”</p><p>“Oh, darling”, Bambam smiles, condescending, “you just can't <em>not</em> wear bespoke at something like this. Choose a designer.”</p><p>“I’ll have whatever Mark-hyung is having, then. It’ll make us look nice. A unified front, isn't it?”</p><p>Bambam forces a smile and nods. Yugyeom returns the smile like he has poison dripping from the corner of his mouth. Bambam can still taste it from the last time they kissed.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>YUGYEOM</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>His birthday falls on a Thursday and he expects nothing. Mark is as grumpy as he is every morning, and the paperwork is disgusting as usual. He takes a smoke break halfway through, goes to his room for coffee, makes a few strategic calls. It’s been a little over three months since he started on the job, but some people already know him and what his calls mean.</p><p>Jihyo shows up around one in the afternoon, a little later than usual, to call them up for lunch and they walk together but silent over to the main house. The sunken dining room is cosy in the fall, making him feel sheltered. When they're all around the table and before the food comes from the kitchen Jinyoung, out of the blue, calls their attention.</p><p>“Well, as most of you know, today is a very special day…” he starts, making a pause for effect. “Despite being with us for so little time, our Yugyeom-ah has proven himself to be a very loyal and hard-working young man, so we’ve decided to have a special lunch to celebrate his birthday.”</p><p>Yugyeom blinks, buying time. He’s never really figured how Jinyoung works, for all the animosity towards Bambam and the little lamb act he puts for his hyungs, so he doesn’t know how to react appropriately. His mind provides him examples of other people who fawned over him with little to no consequence and what they usually liked, so he lets out his most charming giggle.</p><p>“Thank you, Jinyoung-hyung.”</p><p>“I know it’s just us, but I asked Jinhee for the special lobster recipe you liked so much when you first came. We hope you like it.”</p><p>He laughs softly again and nods, earning a delighted smile from Jinyoung. Park-nim signals to one of the servants, but instead of food, the slave comes back with a golden box.</p><p>“As Markie has already commissioned to pay for you suit for Chanyeolie’s birthday,” he says as the box is put in front of Yugyeom, “Bambam very graciously suggested me this, I hope you understand it as a sign of gratitude for your services. I believe being fair and giving can truly keep this household together, and you are a part of it.”</p><p>He opens the box and touches the surface of the silver wristwatch inside. It’s from the same brand he’s seen Mark and Jaebeom wear. Standing up quickly he bows to the boss, then to Jinyoung and Jaebeom, and finally to Mark.</p><p>“Thank you so much, sir”, he says, still on a ninety-degrees bow, “I’m very thankful for being part of your house and receiving all your care and consideration.”</p><p>Park-nim pats him on the head, looking paternal for once. From Yugyeom’s line of sight can see his other hand holding Bambam’s on top of his thigh.</p><p>“You’re welcome, boy. Now let’s eat and see if the watch fits you alright.”</p><p>*</p><p>The watch fits, unsurprisingly, because it was ordered by Bambam. He wears it to the party, along with his new pinstriped deep green Italian suit Mark paid for. One of the girls — he thinks her name is Tzuyu — comes to do their hair and help them choose their shoes and cuff links because Bambam is getting ready at some stylist downtown. Mark speaks very softly to her, and it takes a while for Yugyeom to notice he’s talking in another language.</p><p>“I didn’t know you could speak Chinese.”</p><p>“I was born in the U.S., but my father is Taiwanese”, Mark replies offhandedly while Tzuyu applies BB Cream to his face with a fancy brush. “You should do something about your hair.”</p><p>“Is it messy?”</p><p>“No, not at all. Just to show your face better.”</p><p>Yugyeom stands in front of the mirror in Mark’s closet, thinking about the “unified front” and Bambam’s hypocrisy, just as Bambam himself comes in, hair and makeup already in place, but wearing a silk robe. He smiles at Tzuyu and Mark, spares something that looks like a grimace to Yugyeom.</p><p>“Hyung, you should part your hair to the side, let the fringe fall a little, your hair is too short for anything else”, he says, and Mark immediately obeys. “Oh, I remember those cuff links, thanks for choosing them, Tzuyu.”</p><p>“I know they were given by Kim-nim to Mark-nim last year”, the girl says, folding her slender hands in front of her apron.</p><p>“Yes, exactly. Yugyeomie, come here, will you?”</p><p>He goes, pulled by that abnormal force Bambam’s words have on him, and sits down on cue to allow Bambam to assess him and fiddle with his hair.</p><p>“Aren't you going to ruin your manicure, Bam?”, Mark asks, and Yugyeom eyes zero the deep red polish covering Bambam’s nails.</p><p>“No, it’s just some powder pomade. There,” he answers, sprinkling Yugyeom's hair with a sweet-smelling powder and fiddling with it some more, “just some definition and a fringe part.”</p><p>Yugyeom looks at himself in the mirror, less at his hair and more at Bambam’s hand still on his shoulder as he talks to Tzuyu, at the way he absentmindedly pushes a hair strand in place and brushes Yugyeom's ear in the process. <em>Unified</em> indeed.</p><p>“Everything set in here? I’ve already checked hyungnim, so I’ll just go upstairs to put on my suit and we’re okay to go, right?”</p><p>Mark winks, relaxing in his chair and checking his pockets for his lighter.</p><p>“Sure, Bammie.”</p><p>*</p><p>They go in separate cars, Yugyeom driving Mark’s, and when they arrive at the riverside mansion owned by Kim-nim, Park-nim and Bambam are already inside. He’s curious about why everyone makes such a fuss about those parties, but he’s more curious about how Bambam acts in a place like this.</p><p>Half an hour in he thinks he understands. Everything is excessive: too much light, too many diamonds, too much to drink and to eat, too many voices and bodies clad in expensive fabrics. It’s not something he thought would impress him after the years in the casinos, but he’s proven wrong. People behave weirdly, too, bowing too much to some and not at all to others, and soon he realises the bosses get ninety-degree bows and the shining people beside them are companions and get nothing. They eventually find Park-nim in his dark grey suit and shiny shoes, longing on an armchair beside the owner of the house, their voices low. Mark passes them by to greet the house’s lawyer and introduce him to Yugyeom.</p><p>He meets many other lawyers through the night, young and old, some looking like genuine sharks on suits and others like glamorous princes, such as Yoo Kihyun, who reminds him of Youngjae, Bang-nim’s lawyer. Some of them are heirs to their houses, some aren’t, which makes him wonder about Mark’s position in Park’s household.</p><p>They have just passed Jinyoung and Jaebeom when he spots a familiar face and waves, Zelo waving back at him.</p><p>“Mark-hyung, this is Zelo-hyung, my friend from college”.</p><p>“Bang-nim’s son, right?”</p><p>“Yes, sir, pleased to meet you”, Junhong pauses, looks Yugyeom up and down. “We’re heading to the game room, want to join?”</p><p>Mark shakes his head, looking amused.</p><p>“I think we’ve done the mandatory rounds already, go have some fun, Yugyeom-ah.”</p><p>*</p><p>Instead of losing his abilities, working for a boss has made him better at playing the system, and he makes a mental note to thank Mark later. But he also knows it’s Bambam’s doing, dealing with someone like him has made him more alert and sensitive to hidden cues, which he picks up expertly and scores a few grand on the first game.</p><p>“I see Gyeomie hasn't lost his eye”, someone says, and even without looking up from his cards, he recognises the voice.</p><p>“And noona hasn’t lost her good taste.”</p><p>Jimin chuckles, long nails shining under the chandeliers as she waves him off and hugs his shoulders.</p><p>“I’m just Junhongie’s plus one, nothing much. But the party is too big, I keep losing him.”</p><p>He nods, wondering if she’s already found out, or if she’s seen Bambam walking around and mistaken him for Kunpimook's ghost.</p><p>“Do you know anyone else besides me and hyung?”</p><p>“Not really.”</p><p>She’s too calm, so he knows she hasn’t found out yet. The game room is big like everything in the house, with a bar at the end making it look like a miniature casino. They take a break for drinks and come back, Jimin sitting on Zelo’s lap now, her short hair and dark lipstick making her look like a Bond girl.</p><p>They keep playing, Yugyeom being modest but not too much because he doesn't care, his payment is high and he’s already ordered his new car, a Jaguar that was released the month before. He doesn't pay attention when Jimin stands up and goes away, and barely notices when she returns. When the game ends and he’s counting his gains someone lightly puts a hand on his shoulder, and he assumes it’s Mark.</p><p>“Yes, hyung?” he asks, realising his mistake when the red nail polish comes into view.</p><p>“I didn’t know you played”, Bambam says, voice silky. Yugyeom whips his head around to look at Jimin, who looks just as normal as she did before. “And very well, from what I could see.”</p><p>Yugyeom opens his mouth to say something, but Bambam is already walking away.</p><p>*</p><p>Junhong knows people from more diverse backgrounds than Mark, so Yugyeom follows him around and gets introduced, shakes hands, pretends to sip from various whiskey glasses. Jimin has vanished again, and Zelo doesn't seem to mind. They flow through the masses of glittering bodies just like they used to years before, but now there’s this alien sense of power settling over Yugyeom’s shoulders while he watches his hyung be catered to by people who want Bang-nim's favour.</p><p>It’s late when he sees them, Bambam and Park-nim, looking like the perfect picture of master and slave, Bambam on his lap, lighting his cigar then staying perfectly still while the men and women with actual status talk among each other and ignore their companions.</p><p>Bambam’s slave collar is nearly drowned by a fully iced chain choker, overshadowed by rows upon rows of fine jewellery cascading down the cleavage of his shirt, his earrings making his neck look longer, and peeking under the cuffs of his dark suit Yugyeom sees the glimmer of more gold and gems. The only thing not made of diamonds is the platinum ring on his right hand, that Park-nim grabs and starts playing with, elegant fingers caressing the metal and Bambam's hand.</p><p>Yugyeom thinks of them in bed that evening months ago, Bambam’s skin gleaming too, but with sweat instead of diamonds, Park-nim’s hands on him. He thinks of how it feels to have Bambam’s weight on his lap, his thighs rippling as his breath becomes louder and choppier. He has to turn away and actually swallow some of the whisky to make himself stop.</p><p>*</p><p>It’s even later when he sees him again, and this time Bambam is with Mark. It’s surprising, to say the least, to find Bambam sliding his hands up and down Mark’s chest while Mark does lines off a glass coffee table and looks around with blown pupils, the room smelling of tobacco and mint as all the lawyers seem to smoke menthols. Bambam doesn't look fazed, even if Yugyeom knows he hates cocaine and menthol cigarettes.</p><p>He stands in the corner of the room, Mark paying him no mind, and looks up when a gorgeous man walks by, his beauty not coming from his many jewels or his clothes, but from his delicately fierce face and petite body. Yugyeom looks until the man is gone, followed by a clearly agitated taller man.</p><p>“That’s the birthday boy, Chanyeol-ssi", Bambam says behind him, and Yugyeom turns around.</p><p>“The pretty one?”</p><p>“No, the giant.”</p><p>“Really? He looks like a scared elf”.</p><p>Bambam snorts, coming closer.</p><p>“And your voice gets really high and annoying when you complain, but it doesn't make your cock any less nice”.</p><p>“What?” he asks, glancing around. Bambam’s eyes are slightly unfocused. Yugyeom wonders how sober he is.</p><p>“I’m just saying that if Chanyeol’s dick makes Baekhyun look like that, I wouldn't mind going down on him,” there’s a weird bitterness in his voice but his eyes are alert again. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“In the party?”</p><p>“In this <em>room</em>. It’s enough for me that you play poker, now you wanna do lines, too?”</p><p>Yugyeom scoffs.</p><p>“Of course not, I was just looking out for you. I know you don’t like it when he’s high.”</p><p>Bambam says nothing, just casts a glance at Mark and walks out. Yugyeom follows him. So much for a unified front. He finds Bambam sitting on a balcony overlooking the back lawn where there are a lot of cars on display. The birthday boy is a bit obsessed with collecting them, he heard.</p><p>“Here,” he searches around his pockets for his silver box and his lighter, “look at what I found.”</p><p>Bambam’s face rises and he watches blankly as Yugyeom lights the cigarette and takes the first drag. Then he seems to recognise the filter and quirks an eyebrow. Yugyeom takes the cigarette off his mouth, chuckling. Bambam is still looking at him that unsettling way, so he comes forward and presses the cigarette to his mouth. He takes a drag right against Yugyeom's fingers, making Yugyeom feel his lips, crave for him, so he retreats his hand, leaving the Marlboro there.</p><p>“I remember you saying you miss them.”</p><p>“Yes”, Bambam’s eyes flicker to the side but Yugyeom can’t look away to know the reason. “Reds were always my favourites.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>BAMBAM</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>Reds taste like hunger, gasoline, and lime to him, like kissing Jackson late at night after going to bed and realising he isn’t sleepy at all. He doesn’t know how Yugyeom knows it, but the look on his face doesn’t lie.</p><p>“Are you tired?”, Bambam asks, sliding on the chair, eyes roaming around again, looking for Jimin. He just saw her but was too focused on Yugyeom.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“It’s still a few hours before we go home.”</p><p>“I’m curious about something,” Yugyeom starts, and Bambam sighs. “Do you really feel at home over there?”</p><p>“Not really, no. But it didn't feel like it in Daegu, either, so I don’t care.”</p><p>Somewhere on the floor the music changes and gets more fast-paced. He wonders if Park-nim is out of Kim-nim’s office yet.</p><p>“Have you ever <em>loved </em>us at all?”</p><p>There’s something weird on the question, not on the words: on the way he’s asking, but Bambam is a little tipsy, a little too annoyed to understand Yugyeom’s games.</p><p>“I always did everything I could to keep you safe, no way in hell I’d have done it if I didn’t love you”, he answers, peering over the railing at Chanyeol and Baekhyun yelling at each other. He’s still not over Jimin’s sudden appearance and for the first time in a while can’t really focus on his masters. The way she spoke to him keeps replaying in his head like a bad melody, her low voice and her professional smile, her long nails contrasting her short dress.</p><p>“I knew you were alive, already. That’s why I invited myself through Zelo”, she had said while sipping from her cocktail, “Youngjae-oppa follows you on Instagram and I saw a picture when he was showing me something, a few days after I last saw Yugyeom. A very pretty photo, by the way, of you with some prism light over you face.”</p><p>He had just nodded, wondering why he was supposedly dead but the one feeling like ghosts were coming up to haunt him.</p><p>“Your account is locked but I found you in the background of other people’s photos. With Lalisa Manoban, at Kim Minjung’s gig, front row on Kim V’s show at SFW. They all tagged you, and I’d always thought you had been sold somewhere, it was the only logical explanation for you going missing, for Jackson-hyung’s behaviour, and for you family moving away.”</p><p>He sees her again now, at the other end of the balcony, talking to a guy he’s fairly sure works for the government. Their eyes meet and he thinks of getting up and going over, just as he hears what’s unmistakably a moan. Snapping back to reality and looking around he realises it came from downstairs and a look over the railing shows him quite a scene.</p><p>“Is that... Chanyeol-ssi?” Yugyeom asks, voice careful, for once attention not pinned to Bambam.</p><p>“Yes, Baekhyun, the pretty guy you saw, is his companion.”</p><p>It’s mesmerising, the way they're bent over the hood of a car — which must be freezing — Chanyeol's hand palmed on the metal, hips working against his companion's bare arse. They're still fully clothed, Baekhyun's trousers pushed down to mid-thigh.</p><p>“They're doing it... on a Lamborghini...”, someone on the balcony under theirs whispers.</p><p>"We have a Lamborghini too,” someone else says, sounding a little jealous.</p><p>“No one is doing anything on my Lambo,” the first voice shout-whispers. Bambam recognises it as Jaebeom's voice and holds back a laugh at the irony of it all because Jaebeom has fucked him at least twice on one of his racing cars. But then again, racing is their thing, not Jinyoung’s.</p><p>When he looks back, Jimin is walking away, finger pointing downward. He follows, ignoring Yugyeom, and finds her in the maze garden, bundled in an expensive-looking fur coat but still looking a bit blue even while smoking.</p><p>“Yugyeomie doesn't look like he’s enjoying the party.”</p><p>“He’s never comfortable when I’m with the boss.”</p><p>She exhales, looking like an Old Hollywood femme fatale with her cigarette holder.</p><p>“He’s sleeping with you. Isn't he?”</p><p>She says it as if she’s talking about the weather, and Bambam doesn't even try to deny it, just chuckles bitterly.</p><p>“Disgusting, I know.”</p><p>“No. It makes a lot of sense; with the way he was.”</p><p>She’s shuffling on her spot, fiddling with her coat. Bambam fiddles with his lighter, wishing he had another Red. He supposes he'll always crave for them and makes no move to get his silver box.</p><p>“Does it?”</p><p>“These boys”, she pauses, thoughtful. “These boys are always the same: they buy you a drink, they take you out, they get bored and go away. Yugyeom always came back, and I couldn't get why.”</p><p>Bambam looks at her, understanding. He's not jealous and he doesn't know if it's because it's Jimin or because it's Yugyeom.</p><p>“I couldn't get him, but I wasn't complaining either, I mean, I guess you know how it is with him.”</p><p>And he knows, the way the touches vibrate within him, how he keeps coming back for more because it's good, too good, how it feels like burning up a fever and dipping on a pool at the same time when Yugyeom presses him down and against him.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“It makes sense now… because he knew I was your friend. He was looking for you, I think.”</p><p>It's somewhat cruel of Jimin to think of herself that way, but Bambam doesn't question. She's a grown woman, and they all have their personal vices.  He doesn't know what to say, because he's never imagined Yugyeom and Jimin even meeting, let alone having an affair. And that finally rings a bell.</p><p>“Yugyeom knows why we know each other?”</p><p>“You mean, from where? I never said anything, public school boys at bilingual colleges don't like lowlife call girls, but he'll figure now.”</p><p>“What do you mean, now?”</p><p>“He knows about you, right?”</p><p>“Of course he doesn't!”</p><p>“C'mon Bam-ah, I get you haven't told him, but from what you are now, don't you think he's guessed?”</p><p>*</p><p>Technically, Bambam likes parties because they're all about him looking his best, pretty and spoilt, lusted after by at least two dozen filthy rich people. Personally, he likes the connections he makes, the specific kind of freedom he doesn't get even when driving his cars around the city. But this party had been doomed from the moment Yugyeom was invited. He realises he has to adapt again, reorder his strategy. He’s constantly surrounded by people that read others for a living and there’s not much hope of hiding what — or who — he’s doing.</p><p>By the time he’s back to Park-nim’s lap his head feels clearer, hands steady where they’re loosening hyungnim's tie and pulling his collar away to kiss his neck. The sun is rising when they leave, the streets in a half-light, looking like something out of a dream. He has to contain himself not to start shedding his suit and jewellery in the car, tired from all the smoke and expensive perfume in a way that causes him motion sickness. On the back of his mind, though, he admits the sickness is a side effect of his stress.</p><p>He wants nothing but to have a quick shower and sleep when they get home, but hyungnim pulls him up to the penthouse, the rooms still dark, the sun outside barely peeking through the heavy curtains; and Bambam suddenly feels oppressed, afraid of the darkness. He strips under hyungnim's eyes, goes naked to draw a bath on the huge tub, comes back to find a glass of brandy waiting for him.</p><p>Even tired it’s still good, the bath relaxing enough for hyungnim to push into him with ease and the thrusts grounds him until his brain kicks back, slicing through every interaction in the night and giving him some feedback. The orgasm isn't exuberant in any way but gives him enough release, and when he goes down to his room, he’s wide awake and aware of how he wants this mess to be over. For all he dances around Mark, Bambam knows he’s his best chance, just like Jackson had been in the past, and he might be desperate enough to ask for his help.</p><p>*</p><p>He knows it's not exactly right, what he feels, but his life is full of smooth fabric, expensive cologne and nice aftershave, and he basks on it, enjoys all of the attention as much as he can, all the men with strong hands and a taste for danger. It's not exactly right, but it's an exciting pleasure. He walks out of Mark’s room that December morning feeling content and well fucked, and by the time his beautician arrives he’s sprawled on his drawing-room sofa planning his outfit for the Christmas party.</p><p>“You’re excited”, she says later, after plucking his eyebrows and lathering his face with an expensive mask to avoid irritation.</p><p>“Well, it’s Christmas.”</p><p>“And you're not a Christian.”</p><p>“Does it even matter? Presents, nice food, I get to decorate the house.”</p><p>“I bet they spoil you a lot on the holidays.”</p><p>He holds back a smile, the skin of his face trapped under the goo. Christmas is the time for hyungnim’s sentimental gift — last year he got a painting and the year before dance lessons — while Bambam’s birthday is for the fancy gift, a car or a bespoke watch or jewellery. It’s always a surprise, and having something to look up to does wonders for his mood.</p><p>Christmas this year is a dinner party, small by their standards, just family friends and long-time business partners invited. It’s not too noisy and people seem to be actually having fun and talking among themselves, not putting up a show. When they’re done with dessert hyungnim goes upstairs to his office for the usual round of impromptu meetings, Bambam being called up too after a while.</p><p>This office is wood-panelled and has an actual fireplace, and he sits by the fire, not too close to the desk, enjoying the warmth and the privileged view of hyungnim's and Mark’s faces, watching the people coming in and out. Some greet him, some don’t, and he knows this is something hyungnim takes into consideration when assessing people’s personalities. Companions are, after all, personified money, and money is their greatest god. The meetings are generally to close or propose deals, but the most entertaining are the pleas, the guest starting contrite then going desperate, then blindingly grateful when granted whatever favour was asked. Bambam knows only true desperation makes those people seek the mob out, being indebted to a boss is too high of a weight to carry for trivial problems.</p><p>When they’re done Mark slides a hand by his shoulders on his way out. Bambam stays put, waiting for hyungnim, watching him pour two glasses.</p><p>“Is that cognac?”</p><p>“The one you like, sugar.”</p><p>Bambam smiles, pulls the sleeve of his sweater a little up. They’ve both foregone suits, the party too intimate. Bambam hates the cold, so he’s thankful for the thick wool even with the house heating.</p><p>“Thank you, sir.”</p><p>“Is the party alright?”</p><p>He nods, taking a sip and relaxing when hyungnim pulls his other hand to his lap. His hand fetish is one of the things Bambam enjoys the most about him.</p><p>“It’s gorgeous, sir, we should try this homey mood more often.”</p><p>“Yes, I noticed you weren’t happy at Kim’s last month, figured it was the flashiness”, Park-nim says, taking Bambam’s rings off to massage his fingers.</p><p>Bambam looks at him, surprised. They barely stayed in the same room at Chanyeol’s party, but then again, hyungnim has always been able to catch up to his mood fairly easily, especially if they have sex. It’s both comforting and scary.</p><p>“I really can’t fool you, can I?”</p><p>Park-nim kisses his knuckles, eyes crinkling when he smiles. Bambam knows how privileged he is to have a master who likes him — loves him, maybe, in the way masters sometimes love their servants — so much, that gives him affection and attention, who respects him like this. Masters can be attentive but uncaring, affectionate but disrespectful, they can break a servant from the inside out, make them hate themselves with as much as a single word. Bambam despises many things about himself, but none of them is because of hyungnim. Having this made him feel safe for years, but <em>now</em> it just makes him more paranoid.</p><p>“You’ve been strained lately, don’t think I didn’t notice, you frown like an old man when you’re stressed out. I’m travelling too much to be of any help, and Mark is, well, Mark. He’s good at many things but he’s not comforting.”</p><p>“He’s not too bad.”</p><p>“Don’t let him get over himself, sugar, your integrity is important too. Now, come along, I believe it’s time to bid the guests goodbye and get the presents.”</p><p>So far, he’s managed to avoid Yugyeom, who had been offered a break to travel over to see his mother but refused, much to Bambam’s frustration. Jinyoung and Youngjae get their gifts first, of course, something that never stops amusing Bambam, how hyungnim blatantly behaves like they have the same status. Then Mark and Jaebeom. Yugyeom gets something from Mark and Jinyoung both, but nothing from Park-nim. Bambam is last, the cherry on top of hyungnim's pride as usual. He gets a bracelet from Mark, a looping piece crafted out of titanium, modern and easy to pair with the platinum ring Mark gave him when he first arrived, but hyungnim's box is nowhere to be seen.</p><p>“Wait a second, sugar”, he says, beckoning someone forward. One of the security men come in then, with a large box with no wrapping and no lid. “I hope you like them.”</p><p>The box is put in front of him and he peers inside, his heart leaping in his chest when he spots the kittens.</p><p>“Are those Savannahs?” he asks, carefully slipping his hand inside the box for them to sniff him. Both the kittens have golden spotted fur and yellowish eyes, their little heads snapping around curiously.</p><p>“Why do they look like baby leopards or something?” Mark asks looking inside and wrinkling his nose because he doesn't like cats.</p><p>“It’s their breed, hyung. Hyungnim, they’re perfect!”, he manages to pick up one of them, inspecting the thin wine-red collar on its neck. “Are you a boy or a girl, baby?”</p><p>“They’re both males, the breeder said they’d be easier to manage on the estate.”</p><p>“Do they have names, sir?”</p><p>“No, you’re supposed to choose them, sugar.”</p><p>Bambam looks deeply into the kitten’s eyes, focusing.</p><p>“You’re Velvet,” he says and bends down to touch his nose to the other kitten’s, who has a deep orange collar. “And you’re Silk.”</p><p>Hyungnim tentatively brushes a finger up Velvet’s head. The kittens are weary but docile and probably cost a fortune, but nothing they can’t afford, anyway. Jaebeom is hovering, curious, because he has a few cats but none of them is of special breed, while Mark and Jinyoung have gone back to their wine glasses. Bambam pointedly avoids looking in Yugyeom’s direction.</p><p>He all but forgets about the world at large while playing with the cats, offering himself up for them to sniff and paw at, stroking their <em>unbelievably soft</em> fur. It’s probably the best gift he’s ever got, and that’s something because he gets amazing gifts all the time, but none of them had such a strong effect on him before, he can feel his mind space changing just by touching them. He’s told their beds, litter boxes, food and water fonts are already in his rooms, which explains why hyungnim held him in the office for so long. The buzz of the night starts coming down and he gathers Silk up, hyungnim picking up Velvet without being asked. They walk out of the room, Bambam still cooing softly at his babies, not even caring if his new sweater is covered in fur, and hyungnim stops him halfway up the stairs.</p><p>“You really like them, don’t you?”, he asks, smiling. In the dim light, Bambam can see the shadow of the fine wrinkles around his mouth, the arc above the eyebrow he always raises when he’s thinking.</p><p>“I think this is my favourite gift, ever. Thank you, sir”, he says. They're breathing the same air, Bambam standing on the upper step. It’s easy to go forwards and kiss him, hold Silk with one hand to brush the other against his chest.</p><p>Park-nim holds him by the back of the neck, thumb coming up to press behind his ear, making him sigh, open his mouth, tip his head to the side. The kittens are between them, warm, making him forget about the winter, about the worry pressing down behind his eyes. It’s easy to give himself to the sheer bliss of his pets and a man who knows how to please him, easy to kiss, sigh, moan, feel his blood pump quick and sweet. When they finally break apart, Bambam is hard in his jeans, thighs slightly parted around one of hyungnim's legs.</p><p>“I think they’ll be fine to stay in the living room on their own,” he says, looking down. Velvet is looking back at him, eyes round and shiny. Hyungnim nods and kisses the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“I’m sure they will.”</p><p>Bambam smiles back at him as he steps up, one last glance behind him enough to see the tall figure in a dark coat by the front door, too far away for him to see clearly but he doesn’t need much to know that crease between Yugyeom’s eyebrows is there.</p><p>*</p><p>Knowing Yugyeom will come for him does nothing to keep his apprehension away. He can’t sleep, no matter how much he ran around with the cats for the past two days, so he settles with them in the drawing-room and goes online to shop for more pet toys. He’s read Savannah cats like to jump, so they'll need those cute wooden shelves that run by the walls to avoid getting bored.</p><p>Velvet is trying to chew on his shirtsleeves and Silk is busy pawing at the curtains when his phone rings, and just like that their peace is gone. It’s three in the morning.</p><p>“Hello, darling,”, he says, not trying to hold in how annoyed he is. “How can I help you?”</p><p>“Bambam”, Yugyeom slurs on the other side of the line.</p><p>Bambam's hand stops on Velvet’s back.</p><p>“Yugyeom-ah, are you drunk?”</p><p>“Yeah. The things you make me do”. His voice is raspy, a little high, perfunctory. Bambam pulls his legs against his chest, watches the cats run away to play with each other.</p><p>“I didn’t—”</p><p>“I saw you. I see you with all of them, smiling and kissing, all good even when you don’t want them and they make you angry or scared,” he rants, and Bambam stays silent. “Then you behave like I’m everything that’s wrong in the world, like I’m the worst thing that happened to you. You always did this, even before. You wouldn't hug me or touch me or anything, and you were never home, and you treated me like some kid from the neighbourhood, I <em>remember</em> it, hyung.”</p><p>“I thought you didn't drink.”</p><p>“Stop it, answer me.”</p><p>“You didn’t ask me anything.”</p><p>Yugyeom makes an aggravated noise and Bambam hears his steps and a door slamming shut.</p><p>“Where are you going?”</p><p>“Out.”</p><p>“You can’t drive like this.”</p><p>“I can take care of myself, thank you.”</p><p>“I know you can, you fucking idiot, but I know you’re not used to drinking. Go to sleep, Yugyeom-ah.”</p><p>There’s silence, then the click of a lighter, a soft puff of air. Bambam moves out to the living room and lights one of his own, drops on his back on the sofa and waits for Yugyeom to say something.</p><p>“I’m not as drunk as you think, babe.”</p><p>“You’re talking an awful lot like you are.”</p><p>“I’d say all of it sober, anyway. But maybe it would sound different, don’t you think. Would you take me more or less seriously if I were stone-cold sober?”</p><p>“I dunno.”</p><p>“Are you ever planning to answer me decently? Not even honestly, you’re a compulsive liar, you know. It’s a little sexy how you can lie with a straight face, makes me wonder why you don’t try to lie and pretend to like me. Why do you hate me so much?”</p><p>“I don’t hate you.”</p><p>“Wish I could see your face now.”</p><p>Something clicks in Bambam's head and he sits up, looks around to make sure the doors to the balcony are closed.</p><p>“You’re trying to make me upset so you can fuck me, isn't it?”, he asks, putting out his cigarette. “You could just be a normal person and ask, or maybe that’s not as fun as guilt-tripping me about something that happened years ago, and you just realised ‘cos you got paranoid.”</p><p>“So, I was right.”</p><p>Bambam laughs, walks off to the bathroom, dimming the lights on his way.</p><p>“Whatever you want to believe. I’ll text you the security code. Delete the call and the text after.”</p><p>It’s a trap, again, but this time Bambam has the strings, even if Yugyeom does something unpredictable. What matters isn’t what they’re about to do, he thinks later while taking Yugyeom's clothes off, but how he’s going to spin it.</p><p>He lays down on his bed, doors and curtains firmly closed, already slick and ready. He’s a bit too tired to be creative and think about whatever new thing they should try, so it starts pretty vanilla until Yugyeom pins him down to suck him off a bit and ask:</p><p>“What do you like?”</p><p>“Depends, but I’m not too picky, most things feel good.”</p><p>“But what do <em>you </em>like? Anything those fuckers won’t do but you want to? Topping? Fisting? Lovemaking?”</p><p>“Don’t really care for topping, being dicked down feels way better, and I hate being fingered, let alone fisted”, he watches Yugyeom’s eyes go up and down his body. “And I hate to break it to you, but I doubt the two of us could ever manage <em>love</em> making.”</p><p>Yugyeom looks contemplative but sated. He was indeed just pushing for sex with that ridiculous phone call, then. Funny how he prides himself for being different from the other men in the house but can be placated exactly the same. He goes back to sucking Bambam, edging him a bit, not taking too deep.</p><p>“Are you petting me or fucking me?”, he asks, impatient. It makes Yugyeom rise back up and press his hips to the bed.</p><p>“I noticed you go too easily if there’s a cock up your arse, and we’re not on a hurry, are we?”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Bondage?”</p><p>“Used to, but the ropes marked my skin and that’s too annoying to handle. But you can pin me down if you want.”</p><p>“Overstimulating?”</p><p>“Oh yes, can come three times in a row. That’s the best deal when you’re sleeping with older men.”</p><p>He gets no response, just more sucking and two strong hands keeping his hips in place, but it’s really good, especially when Yugyeom pushes his legs up and slides his mouth down.</p><p>“This okay?”</p><p>“Definitively.”</p><p>“You really shouldn't be able to talk so clearly with someone eating your arse.”</p><p>“Practice makes perfect”, he sighs, dropping his head back on the pillow to breathe better.</p><p>Breathing means moaning, which means Yugyeom getting riled up until he has Bambam thrashing on the bed and sobbing, wrists trapped in one of his hands. It’s too good and not enough, but then he stops.</p><p>“What?” Bambam rasps, trying to pull one of his hands free to wipe his tears away. Yugyeom dries them for him and doesn't let go of his wrists.</p><p>“How much do you like denial?”</p><p>“Are you kidding me? No one likes orgasm denial.”</p><p>“But you do. I saw you pacing yourself last time, stopping halfway through.”</p><p>“Dickhead.”</p><p>“I know that’s what you’re craving, babe, but we’re playing a little before it, alright?”</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>Yugyeom laughs and starts licking up his body until he gets to his mouth and discovers exactly how much Bambam likes kissing him. Bambam arches out of the bed to get some friction but Yugyeom's hand clamps around his neck and he immediately drops back.</p><p>“Breath play?”</p><p>“No, just the pressure. No marks.”</p><p>“You sure like some violence,” Yugyeom mutters.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The walls of the annexe aren’t that thick, Bambam-ah.”</p><p>Snapping his eyes open, Bambam stares at him, the habitual tickle of horror on the back of his mind, but Yugyeom is already back to squeezing his neck and rubbing his cock against his thigh.</p><p>“Gyeom, Gyeom, <em>please</em>.”</p><p>“Please what?”</p><p>“I wanna come.”</p><p>“I know, just a little more, alright?”</p><p>His cock is starting to ache, and he doesn’t want to come on the first thrust, so he tries to breathe, choking under Yugyeom's fingers, tries to put the edge off like he did last time, but it doesn’t work, he’s still too aware of how Yugyeom's other hand is scratching along his ribcage, how hot and thick his cock feels just on his skin, how good it will feel inside him. He realises distantly he’s talking, probably begging, but all he cares about is how he’s shaking and clenching involuntarily.</p><p>“Alright, alright, I’ve got you,” he hears through the rush in his ears, and Yugyeom lets go of him for a bit, then he feels the press of his cock to his arse. “You really wasn't kidding about this dicking down thing, innit,” he says, accent slipping.</p><p>Bambam moans high in his throat and hooks his knees over his shoulders, pulling him closer. They don’t last long, both too gone to have any control, but it feels amazing, going hard like that, just on the best side of painful, and he comes for what feels like ages, completely out of his head, throat going raw from choking because Yugyeom is still pressing down on it, glad the walls are thick in the main house at least, because by the end he has no idea of how much noise they're making.</p><p>It takes him ages to come down, and by then Yugyeom is back from the bathroom and cleaning him up meticulously.</p><p>“You’ll still have to shower.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, come ‘ere.”</p><p>Yugyeom falls into his arms naturally, his head fitting just right on Bambam's chest, his arm coming around Bambam's waist. His hair is too wet to be played with, but Bambam threads his fingers on the back of his neck anyway, taking in the way he breathes, his smell, the cooling of his skin. It’s nearly morning now, the light coming through the curtains changing, and he knows he has to get up, shower, make sense of the messy bed, send Yugyeom on his way before the house staff wakes up.</p><p>“I'm not used to be antagonised”, he says, instead. “That’s why having you around bothers me so much.”</p><p>It’s true. Yugyeom seems to acknowledge it and settles a little better, drops a kiss to his collarbone. He’s also a compulsive liar and knows too well the best way to hide something is blanketing it with truths.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>YUGYEOM</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>Yugyeom expects the New Year’s Eve to be a blast, a fancy dinner at the house or a party somewhere else, but there’s nothing. The night falls and the house is quiet, Mark still working in the boss’ office, Park-nim out of the house, Bambam nowhere to be seen, Jaebeom and Jinyoung in their apartment on the second floor. He orders Thai food and just as he reaches the gatehouse to let security know about the delivery Park-nim’s Lamborghini drives into the propriety, stops and Bambam gets out — from the driver’s side — to hand the keys to one of the security men, one of the black nondescript town cars the bodyguards use driving behind him.</p><p>Yugyeom is still gaping when Bambam comes to meet him by the annexe driveway.</p><p>“Still not out for the night?” he asks, and Yugyeom shakes his head.</p><p>“No, I thought the boss and Mark-hyung would have some social gathering.”</p><p>Bambam’s gaze shifts to somewhere behind Yugyeom, thoughtful.</p><p>“Peniel was taking the car off so Mark-hyung is going somewhere, but hyungnim is probably landing in Japan in an hour, he spends New Year’s there with his sister.”</p><p>“Why are you driving one of his cars, though?”</p><p>“He was driving when we went to the airport, but I had stuff to do in the city, so I just took the car back myself.”</p><p>“Are you going out with Mark-hyung now?”</p><p>Bambam shakes his head, distractedly pulling his phone out of his pocket and starting to walk over to the house. Yugyeom follows him.</p><p>“He’s probably meeting his friends and I’m not into the stuff they like, too pretentious”, his eyes are glued to the screen now, all flippancy gone.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“What?” he shakes his head, stopping by the stairs to type something. “Nothing, hyungnim’s just—” he trails off and Yugyeom watches him push the doors open and put the phone to his ear, mouth a straight line but face otherwise relaxed, turning his back to the driveway and Yugyeom himself.</p><p>It’s the perpetual replay of how they’ve always been, and Yugyeom feels some perverted sense of joy about how Bambam is no longer allowed to physically leave him behind. Now he knows Bambam is distant from all of them, how the space he keeps from him is the same he kept from Jackson and keeps from Mark, leaving them to crumble for him while living inside his own head.</p><p>*</p><p>It surprises him when there’s a knock on his door around ten o'clock because he knows Mark is gone already. Of course, as he opens the doors, he realises he forgot about Bambam.</p><p>“Wanna have a New Year’s mini party?” he says with a little smile, and Yugyeom frowns, confused, but lets him in.</p><p>“I thought you’d be busy with someone else,” he says, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.</p><p>“I was going to stay upstairs but it’s boring.”</p><p>“Am I entertainment, then?” he asks, amused, already going for the coffee machine. “I’m afraid we lawyers are all very dull.”</p><p>“Don’t I know. If it’s alright with you I’d like to stay here.”</p><p>Yugyeom follows him with his eyes as he sheds his coat — not the same he had earlier — and comes into the kitchen area, a little curled on himself and staying close to the heating vents. His hair is a darker blond now, laying flat on his forehead and soft like he’s just blow-dried it.</p><p>“You don’t like the cold, do you?” The question pulls a wry smile out of Bambam, who nods. “I’m making you a cinnamon latte then we can watch something on the bedroom, it’s warmer in there.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>It’s weird to be so formal and so caring at the same time. Yugyeom never learnt how to care for people, and only now he realises it’s because both his mother and his brother are made of the same distant, self-sufficient stuff that left him to fend for himself. They settle in bed, the thick comforter creating a bubble of warmth he can see easing Bambam’s tense muscles. Yugyeom wraps his body around him, to heat him and seek something he can remember from their childhood, the feeling of being <em>home</em> when he was wrapped around Bambam, no matter the cold or the hunger or the sadness.</p><p>“Remember when we still slept in the same bed? We were so tiny,” he says.</p><p>“Why are you smiling? Back then all you did was complain about it.”</p><p>“You used to kick me in the guts, it wasn’t fair.”</p><p>“Alright. It was cute. You were cute.”</p><p>“Am I not cute anymore?”</p><p>“You're about ten centimetres taller than me, definitely not cute.”</p><p>“I couldn't sleep for ages after you moved to the sofa”, he confesses. Bambam looks back at him smiling softly, but there's something in his eyes Yugyeom can't figure so he comes even closer, tries to ease the distance between them with his body. Bambam kisses him first, slow, light and over too fast. He chases after him until they’re tangled on the sheets, chest to chest, thrusting inside him with his face against the side of his neck, barely registering the loud blast of the fireworks.</p><p>He starts the new year buried in and drowning on Bambam, holding him up while he tightens and comes, breathlessly calling Yugyeom's name. Bambam gets up for some water, then comes back and starts teasing, licking the sweat off his neck and telling how he likes the things they just did, hands roaming until they’re hard again and Bambam is on his hands and knees, looking over his shoulder with his hair plastered to his face and eyes dark, beckoning him in, demanding touch and pleasure, a whirlpool Yugyeom can’t resist even if he wanted to. He revels on the slickness and the heat, on how close they are again, on his breath blowing the fine hairs on Bambam’s nape and his spit shining on Bambam’s skin, until they become a single movement, the movement a knot tying them as one, the way he always dreamed of.</p><p>In bed, at least, Bambam follows his lead, the sounds he’s making telling of how gone his mind is, and Yugyeom wonders if he can feel the tie between them too. They flip around by Bambam’s request, chest to chest again, but Yugyeom feels no need to pin his arms down or grab his neck. They come for the second time with arms around each other and breathing on each other’s mouths.</p><p>“So, now’s the time you tell me something ground-breaking about yourself again, right?”, he asks a while later after they’ve showered and changed the sheets, longing on the bed with his hand trailing up and down Bambam’s stomach.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Like you did last time, about not being used to be antagonised.”</p><p>Bambam hums, his lungs vibrating under Yugyeom's ear.</p><p>“Dunno, I never did much pillow talk,” he seems to think for a while but come up short. “Sex is always sex, good on itself, never has any deeper meaning to me.”</p><p>Yugyeom feels something inside him twist.</p><p>“It never means anything, with anyone?”</p><p>“Never did”, Bambam says, voice slurring a little, like he’s falling asleep.</p><p>“Not even,” he forces his voice to stay level, “not even with Park-nim, or Mark-hyung?”</p><p>“Why would I feel anything for my owner, Yugyeom-ah?” he moves around a little, hand coming up to rest between Yugyeom’s shoulder blades. “And Mark-hyung is something else entirely, we get along really well, but it’s never about feeling with these people.”</p><p>“And are you a machine, to feel nothing, never? You feel nothing yet you smile and kiss them every time like it’s just what you want to do, don’t you get tired of faking things that should be your own to feel?”</p><p>“Who are you to judge, Yugyeomie, you’re a professional poker player,” Bambam says lightly.</p><p>“Yes, I play. It’s a game, not my life.”</p><p>“This <em>is</em> your life, Yugyeom-ah, it’s your job, and somewhere along the line, you learn how to play those who deal you in like a deck of cards as well. I was trained for this, to understand my master needs me, to know how to use the silverware and how to walk on heels, but I also need to know how to talk to people, how to be charming and appealing, because I am, above everything else, my master’s showcase, even or especially to himself. This is my job; I take it seriously and I can’t resent it because I chose it myself.”</p><p>“But why?” Yugyeom sits up, agitated. “I keep asking but you never tell me, why did you choose to be here, with a piece of metal around your neck, a slave for the rest of your life, if you were born free? It was hard, it was awful to live the way we did, but we got by, we were <em>together</em>, we had each other’s backs, for better or for worse.”</p><p>“Did we? Don’t think for a second I forgot how you hovered around me, judging my friends, my life. How you frowned when I came home late just like you do when I’m around hyungnim or Mark-hyung. If you had my back I wouldn't have needed to run off to Jackson-hyung for help, Jackson-hyung who listened and cared for me even if, or especially when, he didn't agree with me, Yugyeom-ah.”</p><p>“Listening and caring?” he scoffs, “That’s not what he was talking about when I put a gun to his head,” he spits out, regretting it immediately but too angry to bite his tongue.</p><p>“When you…” Bambam drifts off, looking up at him and slowly sitting up as well. “Is this a joke? You put a <em>gun </em>to Jackson-hyung—”</p><p>“I got tired of his lies and half-sincerity”, he says, once again tired of those same things. “So, I made it clear he could either tell me the truth or get a bullet to his face. He just blabbered, you know, practically confessing hi—”</p><p>“You said he committed suicide”, Bambam says, voice higher than Yugyeom’s ever heard. Yugyeom puts a hand on the side of his neck and he pales, swallows convulsively and gets off the bed. “He’s not— he wasn't guilty of anything.”</p><p>“That’s not what he said.”</p><p>“But that's what <em>I</em> am saying!”, he yells, eyes huge. “I pressured him into helping me and he did it, but I played him into it, it wasn’t his fault, I always play everyone around me, you’ve seen it!”</p><p>“And how can I be sure you aren’t playing <em>me</em> right now?”</p><p>“I can’t play you, Yugyeom-ah”, he says, backing against the wall. Yugyeom follows him, cages him in. “‘cos you’re way worse than me.”</p><p>“Is that why you <em>played</em> Jackson into this? Because I’m so bad you wanted to get away? If I’m so bad, what were you doing in my bed just now?”</p><p>“I had to get away ‘cos I was afraid to die, ‘cos someone was killing ‘round in the district an’ they killed my friend an’ what woulda mum do when I turn’d up dead in a ditch like them other whores?”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“They killed Lola and left her in a dumpster and then this other rent boy too, just a block away from the street we worked. I was so terrified, ‘cos that’s what I was, Yugyeom, that’s what I <em>still am</em>, a whore, a cheap tacky desperate cock sucking hooker, I’ve scraped me knees on bathroom floors since school to pay for your lunch ‘cos I felt guilty ‘bout how terrified you made me with your frown and your ‘hyung’ and this horrible obsession you always had to come after me and look at where it got us. Do you ever <em>think—</em> you ever think about how half an hour ago you were shoving your dick inside your own brother’s arse? You think I’d ever allow it if I wasn't a whore like I am?”</p><p>Bambam's chest is rising and falling rapidly, his eyes are shimmery. He's hyperventilating and will start crying at any moment. Yugyeom's own body is stiff with anger, scalding blood rushing up his neck.</p><p>“So that’s what you did when you went off to <em>work,</em>” he manages to say.</p><p>“Remember Jimin-ah? It used to be me, her, and this other girl, we’d stand by the bar behind that old plastic factory on the road, wearing our skimpy clothes, and we tried to laugh it off but that was our life every night, even after Sonnie-hyung showed up and tried to force me to quit, I couldn't quit, we needed the money, and I needed to get away from all that.”</p><p>“From me.”</p><p>“Whatever Jackson-hyung told you wasn’t the truth, he only ever helped me, I made him promise to never tell you anything about this stuff, ‘cos I knew you’d get mad about it and you’ve always played the good boy part, but I know you can't control your temper.”</p><p>They stare at each other for a while, Bambam’s jaw clenching as he tries to hold back his tears but Yugyeom can feel him shake.</p><p>“Do you even love me?”, Yugyeom asks, out of spite.</p><p>“Want to know what's the worst part? I actually do love you. I fucking wish I hated you like you think I do, because you make my life living hell. I must've been a horrible person in my past life to deserve this.”</p><p>“You're a horrible person on this one too.”</p><p>“<em>I</em> am a horrible person? Tell me, Yugyeom, what happened in between you putting a gun to Jackson-hyung’s face and him dying? How did you make it look like a suicide?”</p><p>“I didn’t have to. He grabbed the gun from me and shot himself,” he mimics the gun under his chin with his fingers, “<em>boom</em>, just like this, right in my face. There was brain stuff everywhere on his flat. He was about to cry, too, like you are right now. He said he heard your voice in his dreams, that he loved you and missed you and—”</p><p>“STOP IT!”</p><p>“He knew he should've tried harder to make you st—”</p><p>“Stop it, Yugyeom, I’m—”</p><p>“That if he’d known better, you’d still be there. Guess it makes sense now, babe, but back then I thought he was lying to me, so he had to die. It was for the better, I think, he was suffering too much, all depressed and shit after you went missing.”</p><p>Bambam’s face crumples and the tears roll down his cheeks, silently. His whole body is pressed to the wall, trying to keep a distance between them. Yugyeom closes the gap, hugs him tight, and Bambam doesn’t push him away.</p><p>“I’m never, never, forgiving you for this.” Bambam chokes.</p><p>“It’s alright, babe. I’ll never forgive you, either.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had absolutely forgotten this chapter ends right at New Year's... well, happy coincidence — maybe counteracts how intense this last scene is.<br/>The song for this chapter is Please Don't Judas Me by Nazareth; not surprisingly, there is a lot of Judas-ing in the next chapter...</p><p>As usual and once again, thank you for the kudos, comments and bookmarks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Conspiracy Thread</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <strong>BAMBAM</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>The new year brings a press scandal that barely avoids touching hyungnim's business, so they go on a tour of social functions that require suits, leather shoes and hand-kissing until the mess subsides in time for a visit from a Chinese oil tycoon and his wife, that has all the house big names sitting at the office on the first floor, Mark switching between English and Chinese just to show off. They have nights out at tourist attractions, fancy bars and nice meals at hyungnim’s favourite hotel, up until the very last day when a snowstorm starts right after they arrive home from lunch and Bambam hurries down to the kitchen to tell the cooks to make something for dinner. He’s not keen on the tycoon guy, thinks he’s too evasive and fishy to be a good businessman, and having to eat in the formal dining room at the front of the house just makes him more annoyed.</p><p>Jinyoung is very chatty, sitting between Jaebeom and the tycoon’s wife, while Jaebeom is too quiet. Bambam thinks it’s because the conversation is in English, and Jaebeom doesn’t really speak it, even in Korean his words don’t glide smoothly, some dialect always peeking through. He could’ve learnt if he weren’t so proud, if he wasn’t so bent on asserting his power by shouting at people’s faces. Mark always says he’s ignorant and crass, but Bambam, who has a little more insight on what it means to rise the way they did, thinks he’s just weak.</p><p>“Boss-nim, me and Jinyoungie want to tell you something”, Jaebeom says in Korean, quiet and slow.  Jinyoung smiles at him like he hung the sun <em>and</em> the moon.</p><p>“We want to announce we have decided to get married in April”, Jinyoung says in English, right hand conveniently holding a glass of white wine to highlight the beautifully clear line of diamonds that makes his engagement ring. The tycoon’s wife beams, Park-nim nods and — unless Bambam is mistaken — Jaebeom pales.</p><p>“Why so soon?” Mark asks from where he is by the tycoon’s right hand.</p><p>“It’ll be a very simple religious ceremony.”</p><p>“Religious?”, Park-nim frowns.</p><p>“We were thinking of the Metropolitan Cathedral.”</p><p>Jinyoung’s voice is sweet, which on itself means trouble, but hyungnim’s careful head tilt means even more. Bambam rarely has that expression directed at him, the slow rise of hyungnim’s eyebrows and censoring eyes, the <em>you did something stupid</em> it spells, and Bambam wonders what nerve has Jinyoung struck.</p><p>“The Cathedral… is a beautiful place indeed,” Park-nim smiles and turns to the guests. “It was built by the British in the early 1920s and renovated a few times, the back of the altar is completely made out of stained glass. Very suitable for Spring and Summer ceremonies.”</p><p>Bambam isn’t into churches in general, but this one — the only one hyungnim ever attends, for big occasions such as weddings and baptisms — freaks him out because of the horribly high and narrow arches that make it look like a sewer gallery, fancy stained glass windows or not. The parish had the grass around it replaced with concrete too, making the building look like a wannabe Gothic monstrosity dropped in the middle of the city. He still doesn’t know what’s so bad about Jinyoung wanting to marry there and doesn’t have the opportunity to ask until late the next day, after he’s drawn hyungnim a bath and is giving him a massage.</p><p>“That’s Nyong’s <em>brilliant</em> idea of family tradition, his parents got married there too, but we all know how well that went, and how Jaebeomie’s behaviour already goes.”</p><p>“You think he’s trying to prove himself better than his own mother, sir?”</p><p>“The way I see it, sugar, he wants to make two points. One to you and every other person Jaebeomie has ever slept with, about how good and pure and righteous he is; and another to Yoora and Youngjae, e<em>specially</em> to Youngjae, about how <em>his</em> parents got married there, and <em>he</em> was born free, and the trophy man they both dated is <em>his</em> now.”</p><p>“Sounds like a rather vicious mindset to have at your own wedding.”</p><p>Park-nim smirks at him.</p><p>“That’s why I never married and why I assume Markie never did, too. If you need God to testify how much you love someone it’s probably because you’re not so sure yourself.”</p><p>*</p><p>It’s still snowing when Jaebeom’s birthday arrives, albeit not as viciously, and they all show up bundled on thick long coats and scarves to Jaebeom’s favourite club, a sprawling glass building just off the city with a circuit for car racing behind it. Bambam’s car was a second Christmas gift, a casual ego boost to hyungnim meant specially for this event filled with Jaebeom’s friends from the other houses and random millionaires from the clubs he’s part of. It’s a multi chromed McLaren that matches the sunglasses he’s wearing.</p><p>“This whole thing is just a huge unnecessary flex”, says Mark from the depths of his dark blue scarf.</p><p>“Says the man who’s just ordered a custom Maserati,” Bambam quips, adjusting his padded uniform.</p><p>Hyungnim chuckles from beside him, an arm around Bambam’s waist, showing off.</p><p>“Did you like the paint job, sugar?”</p><p>“Of course he did, look at his cocky face because he has the prettiest car.”</p><p>“Thank you, Mark-hyung!”</p><p>Bambam turns and kisses the boss lightly on the lips, knowing he enjoys when he and Mark bicker over nonsense. His car is, in fact, very pretty, and he can imagine how it looks from the stands as he races, the light bouncing red, orange and gold, flashy and exotic. He comes third, the eyes of a dozen other men following him, a slave and still better than them. Hyungnim kisses him and gives him a bunch of ugly yellow flowers neither of them cares for.</p><p>“I was a little dubious of your colour choices, but it looks very good in the circuit.”</p><p>“Did anyone film it?”</p><p>“Probably? They had a film crew in place. Markie said you were putting up a show,” Park-nim says as they settle for lunch.</p><p>“And was I?”</p><p>“When are you <em>not</em> performing, Bambam? It’s your natural talent.”</p><p>As hyungnim's attention is caught by the waiter, Bambam wonders if the statement is a compliment. All around him, the guests are working their personas but there’s no way of knowing how much effort each of them needs for it. Mark’s by the corner talking to Jinyoung, both being appropriately polite, and Jaebeom is at the main table being friendly to Song-nim’s American wife, his act probably a complete lie since Jinyoung hates her.</p><p>“What are you going to do with the prize?”</p><p>Bambam blinks, distracted, and needs half a second to catch up.</p><p>“It’s a bottle of champagne, but I don’t like the brand, we should leave it to the kitchens.”</p><p>“Your choice, sugar. I ordered duck, hope it’s alright.”</p><p>He nods, distracted again by the crowd, mostly people he doesn’t usually see at their parties. Jaebeom's crowd is remarkably different from hyungnim's and Mark’s, which makes him wonder how does Jinyoung feel when he goes out with Jaebeom. Probably the same way he feels when he’s out with Mark: a little disgusted, a little out of his depth.</p><p>*</p><p> “So,” Mark says, swishing his glass a little before taking a sip of the wine. The restaurant they’re at has good music playing but Bambam can hardly hear it over the patron’s voices, “the Doctor’s results came back and you’re anaemic, <em>again</em>.”</p><p>Bambam stabs at his steak half-heartedly, dreading the turn their conversation just took. Mark’s plate is basically full, the food just messed around.</p><p>“Who are you to scold me about eating, honestly.”</p><p>“Someone that cares, Bammie, come on. You have to take care of yourself.”</p><p>The hypocrisy almost makes him laugh out loud, but it would attract people’s attention to them. He’s been frugal since he was a kid, Mark on the other hand has no appetite because his insides have been turned to mush by all the drugs.</p><p>“I am aware, hyung”. He smiles, sighs. “Just send in an order for the supplements the doctor prescribed, I’ve no idea how to fix my routine to eat more or something like that.”</p><p>He knows Mark wants to say something else, but the moment is lost, his apparent submission more effective than any protest he could ever muster. The conversation goes back to their usual business, a heated debate over a gambling law the opposition in Congress is trying to pass.</p><p>“Senator Park,” he says, speaking of Park Sungjin, hyungnim’s godson, “Or Congresswoman Hwang will shut this down. It’s not like it would change anything, anyway, just create an excuse for casinos to pay no taxes.”</p><p>“The law is literally ‘pay the tax and be legal’, dear.”</p><p>“But we aren’t used to paying them, hyung, come on, politicians just send the money to tax havens anyway. For the houses, it’s easier to pay in bribes they can negotiate.”</p><p>They fall silent as the waiter brings dessert and the white wine. Bambam’s eyes flicker to his phone automatically just in time to see a text from Yugyeom coming in. Before he can finish debating if he should open it the waiter is gone.</p><p>“You think there’s any hope for us to eventually go legal?”</p><p>“Not under the current generation, the politicians are too used to the system and the bosses feed on it too heavily, there’ll be an eventual joint effort for legalisation, but I doubt people like hyungnim or Kim-nim would support it,” he says, dragging a piece of meringue through the crème.</p><p>“Park-hyung is rather progressive, in my opinion.”</p><p>“Yes, but then he’s one of the biggest slave masters in Asia, even if you count the mega lords in Thailand and India, and going legal would entail either campaigning for abolition or legalising human trafficking.”</p><p>“Which is impossible,” Mark states while putting down his spoon.</p><p>“Exactly. We have to be self-aware, though. I mean, look at those people at Jaebeom-hyung’s birthday, all making illegal moves on cars bought with illegal money, but they look at me sideways because I’m an illegal slave. Maybe if I was a legal slave, they would treat me even worse, because the law would be on their side saying I’m not human.”</p><p>“So, you think going legal would make the bosses over-powerful?”</p><p>“It would make everyone too powerful. The moment the law concedes the Seoul mob exists the mob will make the law its toy,” he looks down when his screen lights up again with another text. “I honestly don’t think it’s even possible for Congress to force the mob into paying a gambling tax, much less absorb it into legality. The whole system is just going to collapse eventually like it’s happening in Japan.”</p><p>Mark hums and signals the waiter.</p><p>“Park-hyung’s sister is moving out of Tokyo.”</p><p>“Is she, now.”</p><p>“The police finally got her red-handed, she’s going to Europe, then South America.”</p><p>Bambam never liked Park Hyerin, hyungnim’s half-sister. From what people say, she’s more like Jinyoung’s deceased father than Park-nim, to the extent Jinyoung, a notorious suck up, seems to dislike her.</p><p>“Speaking of America”, he says instead of offering any comment, “you haven’t been to L.A. since last June.”</p><p>“Get off my case, the boy is fine, we call every week.”</p><p>“I’m perfectly sure he is, not thanks to you, hyung. What about after the wedding?”</p><p>“He’ll be at school. In the summer, I promise. I’ll go in the summer.”</p><p>Another text flashes on Bambam’s screen. He holds back a frown and pockets his phone.</p><p>“I’ll hold you to that,” he lowers his voice, looks Mark right in the eye. “You might think you’re rubbish at this and I agree, but you’re still his dad and he deserves to see you.”</p><p>*</p><p>They get back just in time for Mark to leave again this time with Peniel. Bambam decides that’s a time as good as any to face whatever Yugyeom wants after a whole month of silence and then two weeks of empty messages about how they need to talk, like a bad parody of how they danced around one another after he’d been hired. He’s stopped feeling sick every time he thinks of Yugyeom’s arms around him, keeping him against the wall while whispering all those vile things about Jackson and saying they were bound for life. “It’s our destiny, can’t you see? We can’t run from each other”, he’d said, drying Bambam’s tears and that had always been the scariest part about Yugyeom, to him: the condescending way he spoke, as if he was older, wiser, <em>better</em>. As if his act sold better than Bambam’s.</p><p>Bambam thinks, when Yugyeom lets him into his rooms, that the effort he’s making to keep his part of miserable lover is downright funny.</p><p>“Desperate much?”, he says, standing by the sofa. Yugyeom frowns, a <em>faux pas</em> not even two minutes in. “You texted me during lunch, don’t do that again.”</p><p>“Are we back to speaking terms?”</p><p>“For the next five minutes, yes. If you’ve learnt your boundaries, I’m willing to get over your little show on New Year’s,” he says, enjoying how distraught — this time for real — Yugyeom looks. Gone are the days Bambam tried to appease him, as it clearly didn’t work. Yugyeom never wanted to be placated, anyway, he isn’t Park-nim… “You’re hellbent on criticising Park-nim, Mark-hyung, Jaebeom-hyung, whatever person treats me like the slave I am, but I want you to be aware you behave worse than them. The stake you have on me is no greater than theirs, <em>brother</em>. I’m not an object for you to own, material or spiritually.”</p><p>“I don’t want to own you.”</p><p>“Of course not, because your obsession with me is because you want me to be an independent and empowered member of society. Quit it.”</p><p>“What do you want me to say?”</p><p>Bambam looks at him, sitting on the armchair by the fireplace, thinks of the day he’ll take Mark’s place and have all that power over life and death, over money and people. He’s stronger than Mark, less prone to play hard and die young, but his strength comes from a dangerous emotional place, his triggers too close to the surface instead of buried under seven feet of chemical control.</p><p>“If we’re meant to be together you need to stop playing against me.”</p><p>“You want me to condone the si—”</p><p>“See, this. Being judgemental. I’d like you way more if you stopped being a hypocrite.”</p><p>“Which I’m not,” Yugyeom says, mouth set in a stubborn line.</p><p>Deciding it’s time to risk all, Bambam walks up to him and puts a hand on top of his head, nudges him slightly until Yugyeom rests his forehead against his stomach like when they were teenagers. He’s sold his body once, to a man he barely knew and for all purposes could’ve destroyed him. Then sold his soul in exchange for some of Mark’s power. There is nothing left to sell but Yugyeom doesn’t know that he’s the unknowing buyer of an empty vessel that will satisfy him regardless.</p><p>“If you play with me, I can’t promise you any power you don’t already have… but I’ll be yours,” he says, sliding into Yugyeom’s lap, “Now and forever, I’ll belong to you like I never did to anyone. Because I love you, and I never loved them, and I want you—”, he chokes, puts his hands on Yugyeom’s face. “I need you to promise you won’t hurt me.”</p><p>“A united front, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Don’t be like this, it’s not about money now, it’s not about power, it’s about <em>us</em>. How much do you want me?”</p><p>“You know how much,” Yugyeom says, arms around Bambam’s waist.</p><p>“Say it.”</p><p>“I’d trade everything to have you.”</p><p>His eyes are dark the way they get when he’s about to come, windows into his lust-filled mind. Bambam kisses him, close-mouthed, slow, feeds his want to satisfy his own greed.</p><p>“See? You have me,” he starts slipping Yugyeom’s shirt buttons open, itching to touch him. “Look at me.”</p><p>He doesn’t know if it’s the time apart or the risk of offering so much at once, but he feels exhilarated in a way he hasn’t felt since their first kiss, something like a roaring hunger awaking inside of him to press closer until they’re one, and maybe this is what Yugyeom feels all the time but to him it’s a new feeling he explores recklessly, licking inside Yugyeom’s already red and soft mouth to see his eyes get darker, his hands tighter where they clutch at Bambam’s thighs.</p><p>“I wanna suck your cock”, he says, spreading his knees until they’re trapped by the armchair. Yugyeom pulls him to another kiss, pawing at his arse now.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“No?” Bambam asks, eyes on the hard line of his cock in his dress trousers. While he was out with Mark, Yugyeom was at the office downtown. He doesn't reply, just pulls Bambam's designer jeans and underwear down and starts playing with the head of his cock, fingers feeling scorching hot, making him shudder.</p><p>“You like this?”</p><p>Bambam looks at him sharply, so he keeps going, spreads his own legs and cradles Bambam to his chest. It’s hot in a way he isn’t used to, all the skin on skin, the undivided attention. It’s paced enough for them to keep kissing, Yugyeom’s other hand on his hair, angling him when he loses himself. They don’t talk, too caught up on each other, there’s no sound except for the slap of skin and spit. His come trickles down Yugyeom fist and his other hand goes to Bambam's chin to make him open his mouth so he can slide the come covered fingers over his tongue.</p><p>Bambam sucks on them, mouth tingling from the orgasm, then looks into his eyes and drags a hand over his still clothed cock. Yugyeom comes with a shudder and kisses him again. It’s filthy, it’s too intimate, and he’s surprised with how much he likes it.</p><p>“Deal?”, Yugyeom asks.</p><p>Bambam looks at them, intertwined in sex the way they never are in life. It feels less like a deal and more like a promise, a deeper communion than they would ever achieve through words.</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>MARK</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>The wedding is at the Cathedral, the way Jinyoung wanted. Mark walks in, no plus one, no pomp. His suit is new, a custom sleek navy blue made to match the theme, to make the audience look like graceful extensions of Jinyoung and Jaebeom’s love. The biggest joke is Yoo Youngjae standing at the altar as Jaebeom’s best man. Mark sits between Bambam and Yugyeom, Park-nim’s spot empty on Bambam’s the other side, Park Hyerin still running from the Japanese police and unable to attend her only nephew’s wedding.</p><p>Jaebeom, for once in his life, is wearing grey instead of black, making him look plain and harmless. Bambam was very vocal about how <em>boring</em> he found the whole concept of a blue-white wedding, how it completely missed the point of that hideous church.</p><p>“The church has a <em>point</em>?” Mark had asked, amused. Yugyeom had snickered from the corner.</p><p>“Yes, to be showy. It’s the point of all temples, to show how much better and majestic this or that god is.”</p><p>“You sound like a heathen.”</p><p>“To the eyes of those knee-flexing rosary-clutchers, it’s exactly what I am.”</p><p>Mark has no faith. He doesn’t doubt and doesn’t pray, either, but from time to time he suspects there’s something other than money that Bambam worships, or maybe not worships, but believes in. It’s certainly not the god the Park family prays to while raising their hands to avoid blood on their cuffs, the one all employees are baptised to when they join the house.</p><p>Jinyoung walks in by Park-nim’s arm, part of the Seoul Metropolitan Orchestra playing a beautiful song from the chorus balcony. He’s wearing a white suit, meant to make him look like an angel of purity, but Mark can only associate it with the common representation of Lucifer. The boss is wearing a light opaque blue, that matches Bambam’s teal jacket more than Jinyoung’s satin ensemble. It’s an awfully slow walk, one that the photographers and socialites are probably enjoying, but only makes Mark’s neck hurt. Jaebeom looks ecstatic. Yoora and Youngjae are sat so far back Mark can’t even see them.</p><p>Back when Mark started working for Park’s former lawyer, Jinyoung was still in college. He was fresh-faced and pristine, dated a boarding-school guy who wanted to be a photographer or a painter, and they made quite the couple, the man’s tall frame dwarfing Jinyoung, making him look like a precious blossom who deserved to be kept. Mark never figured how he went from that to dating Jaebeom a couple of years later, how he switched from his aspirations of being an artistic muse to committing to the artificial filth of Jaebeom’s social circle.</p><p>The ceremony is slow, too. Intricate, full of long vows they have already broken and rituals with no power to protect them. The ringbearer is Congresswoman Hwang’s sixteen-year-old son, a precious pretty thing so sheltered he can barely walk without looking at his mothers sitting at the first row.</p><p>Bambam, wearing a cascade of long diamond earrings for the occasion, keeps playing with the program to avoid looking at the bizarrely puffy dress Jinyoung’s groomsmaid is wearing. The music, at least, is good, makes Mark feel clean and a little melancholic. After the communion, the music picks up, becomes triumphant. Mark smiles, triumphant indeed.</p><p>They all leave the church before the grooms and are given handfuls of flowers to throw in the air. Yugyeom looks at him, the bottle green of his suit making him look paler, or maybe he’s feeling the same cold thrill Mark is, heart ominously beating against his ears the way it always does before moments like these because murder still feels like a lump on the top of his throat, a metaphorical taste of blood overpowering any other sense, exhilarating and horrifying. They throw the flowers, the crowd cheers. Bambam looks at him, at Yugyeom, then opens his mouth, and right there Mark sees <em>he doesn’t know</em>. The crowd cheers again, overjoyed, bursting like the twin gunshots for the twin red stains on Jaebeom’s chest.</p><p>Jinyoung goes down with him, screaming. The crowd screams, too, but his piercing cry of horror overpowers them all, a sound Mark is sure he’ll never forget. He hurries to them just as Peniel pushes Park-nim and Bambam back into the safety of the Cathedral, and presses Jinyoung’s face to his chest, his tears and spit dampening the fabric of Mark’s shirt as his body shakes, hides his face in the fabric and forces him to avoid looking at the mess Jaebeom’s men make of the shooter’s body with twelve consecutive shots. They are all panicking. He looks down, watches Jaebeom’s blood slip down the marble steps, getting trapped in the infinitesimal cracks on the stone, and what a minute ago was a living man, with feelings, thoughts, voice, is now bloodied meat, disgraced tissue covering poorly arranged limbs, already starting to go cold and stiff.</p><p>Jinyoung’s wedding ring is made of white gold, stacked with the engagement ring made from a row of baguette-cut plain white diamonds. Too plain, when his milky skin looks so beautiful with bright red against it, as he sobs clutching at Jaebeom’s body, the perfect picture of a tortured demigod in a Renaissance painting. All the cars are leaving as fast as they can, windows rolled up. Mark pries Jinyoung off the cadaver, untangles his bloodied hands from the rumple of Jaebeom’s suit and hair, and Jinyoung keeps crying and calling Jaebeom’s name, his deep voice contrasting with the ambulance sirens. Yugyeom’s eyes are too fixed as he drives them off and Mark wants to ask him if he’s ever done this before, if his life on the casinos made him cold-blooded enough. But then again, Yugyeom was the one to convince him to let Lee-nim’s men get their revenge.</p><p>Mark looks through the back window, checking for Peniel guiding Bambam and the boss to another car, and pulls Jinyoung closer, thinking of how Dom used to say mob wars were a special opportunity to spill high blood.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>BAMBAM</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>There’s no funeral. Jaebeom’s body is cremated, the urn is given to Jinyoung without any pomp, and he travels to the coast and throws the ashes into the sea. The reason they’re being so private about everything is that the city is strung like a wire, ready to burst in a bloodbath worth of the 1980s mob wars. Bambam is not allowed out of the house, Park-nim spends most of his time going from place to place in bulletproof cars, Peniel is made head of security and Mark doesn’t drive alone anymore. Jaebeom’s name is never said out loud. Two hours after he was murdered Lee-nim had personally called to claim responsibility for the kill and to break to Park-nim the news of his nephew-in-law being a snitch. Nobody wants Jinyoung out in the open, but he stubbornly insists on staying in Europe for a while, something the boss can’t deny him.</p><p>No one knows what to do with Jaebeom’s cats, three rescues who keep wandering around, looking for their owner. Bambam adopts them out of pity, afraid they’ll antagonise his kittens, but they bond, curling up on his balcony and his sofas, apparently on their own kind of mourning.</p><p>Bambam doesn’t exactly mourn. Jaebeom had it coming, serving two masters at the same time, and it’s not like he cares for Jinyoung, but he still feels like there’s a little needle prodding at his neck, something about how Yugyeom looked at Mark at the wedding, the feeling getting stronger because both of them are too quiet about it.</p><p>He and Yugyeom see each other during the day, quick escapades in the annexe while Mark is out with hyungnim. He sees Mark in the early mornings when they’re both sleepless by the pool. When April is nearly ending and it’s been two weeks since the wedding, Mark comes back to his rooms for coffee and whatever else they can do. Silk and Jaebeom’s odd-eyed black cat scurry off to hide under the sofa when they walk in, Velvet and the other two cats are nowhere in sight. All the cats are stranger shy and the only one with some socialising streak is Velvet, who loves hyungnim’s lap.</p><p>They sit in silence for a while, Mark playing with the fringes of a pillow on his lap. Bambam makes coffee, stirs cream and whiskey with it, pours two cups.</p><p>“Did you know he was going to be killed?” Mark asks, startling him. The spoon clinks against the porcelain with an ugly noise.</p><p>“No, I didn’t. Should I?”</p><p>“I figured Yugyeomie would’ve told you.”</p><p>Bambam takes a second to breathe, to hold himself from lashing out about how horribly cruel it was for both of them to know and just <em>let that happen</em>.</p><p>“Why would <em>he</em> tell me?”</p><p>“Well, I just thought it made sense, with the two of you fucking all the time.”</p><p>This time he doesn’t start, he walks over, places the cups on the low table, sits across from Mark.</p><p>“He didn’t.”</p><p>“So, I was right and you’re really fucking him.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Mark’s face is completely blank, his hands perfectly poised on the arms of the chair. He’s a predator waiting to jump, but Bambam doesn’t have the energy to feel afraid.</p><p>“I know I shouldn't be sleeping with him, I’m not stupid,” he says, relaxing against the plush chair, the same one Yugyeom sat when Bambam first told him they weren’t brothers anymore.</p><p>“It's not like I'm surprised, he's young and good looking, and he looks at you like—” Mark sighs, slides down on his seat and throws his head back. He looks tired, too pale, long nose sticking out from his face. “Anyway, I get it. You’re entitled to get bored of servicing old masters and psycho underbosses.”</p><p>It’s the first time Bambam hears him call himself that magical word: <em>underboss</em>, a title hyungnim never wanted to officially grant him or Jaebeom for fear they would compete even more.</p><p>“It’s not about this.”</p><p>“It’s because he knows you from before, isn’t it? From when you were free.”</p><p>Bambam opens his mouth and the words are heavy on his tongue. It feels different from when Jimin asked him because Mark doesn’t know what he’s truly asking.</p><p>“We’re brothers from his mother’s side,” he says bluntly. “You probably looked her up and know she had another child who went missing. She’s Thai, came to Korea when she was eighteen, had me when she was nineteen, after my father ran off. Yugyeom’s father wasn’t much better, he died when I was around thirteen. That’s when Yugyeom’s obsession started,” he watches as Mark’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Now is the time for you to express how disgusted you are.”</p><p>“I’m more shocked at your… nonchalance.”</p><p>“I’ve had months to come to terms with liking to suck my brother’s cock.”</p><p>“You’re terrifying,” Mark says, finally picking up his cup. “Are you keeping him?”</p><p>It’s something Bambam often asks himself. Does he actually want to keep Yugyeom for heavens know how many years, to spend away his life handling that loaded gun? He doesn’t have an answer.</p><p>“He wants to keep me. I don’t know what I want,” he says and Mark nods. He hasn’t brought up Park-nim, which means he’ll keep this information to himself. “Are you okay with this?”</p><p>“Whether I agree or not doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’ve ever had any hopes to control you, that’s our deal.”</p><p>“As long as hyungnim doesn’t know, I’ve got things under control, hyung.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mark nods again, closing his eyes and relaxing back in the chair, “I’d be very surprised if you didn’t.”</p><p>They finish the coffee in silence, a silence that stretches long enough for his kittens to show up and curl in the rug under the table. Mark’s eyes are vacant in a way that scares Bambam for all the wrong reasons. He still hasn’t said how he knew Jaebeom would be murdered, why he didn’t warn anyone, why he didn’t act. Standing up, Bambam goes to him, sits on the floor between his knees, rests his head against his thigh.</p><p>“What happened with Jaebeom-hyung?”</p><p>“I guess Lee-nim thought he wasn’t doing his best,” Mark’s a beautiful liar but he’s not bothering to try this time. Bambam kisses his hand, one last plea. “Peniel-ah knew he was double-dealing, Yugyeomie did the rest. We just had to sit and watch as he ruined himself.”</p><p>“Gyeom’s not the type to sit and watch.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>He thinks of Jackson, ruined from the inside out, brains blown out by his own hand but through Yugyeom’s plan.</p><p>“He’s too clever, manipulative.”</p><p>“A little like you.”</p><p>“Exactly, but I didn’t start killing when I was seventeen years old.” Bambam always thought his allegiances were clear, and they still are, but the thought of Yugyeom orchestrating Jaebeom’s death from the shadows and using Mark’s greed as a ploy is beyond worrying. “His best move is messing with your perception. A poker player, remember?”</p><p>He looks ups but Mark isn’t looking at him. His eyes are on the window, on the weird mist that dances on the trees that high up the mountain.</p><p>“I should go, the sun’s already rising, and I have work in the office.”</p><p>Mark always hated working in the office downtown and he can’t possibly have changed his mind out of nowhere. Bambam looks at his empty, drug hazed eyes; looks at this underboss looming over him and knows something worse is afoot. He gets up, gathers the cups, scratches the cats, wonders how many people are involved already, how did Yugyeom play Mark into that.</p><p>He doesn’t look at Mark because he doesn’t want to see he’s losing. The sun rises, the curtains a watercolour of purple, yellow and pink that clashes with the artworks on the wall. Mark stands up and walks to the front door.</p><p>“Who did he kill when he was seventeen?” he asks like an afterthought, his back to the room and one foot already out of the door.</p><p>Bambam just shakes his head and walks into his bedroom. Some parts are better left out.</p><p>*</p><p>He wakes up late after a restless sleep full of indistinct bad dreams with his phone ringing on the bedside table. He stretches a hand to answer it, but some other hand grabs the phone and silences it. Rubbing his eyes, he looks up at Yugyeom.</p><p>“What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Jinyoung-hyung left an hour ago for the airport, Park-nim is out again with Mark-hyung.”</p><p>He’s not in the right mood to face Yugyeom, still too tired after the conversation with Mark. <em>Who did he kill when he was seventeen</em>, Mark had asked, but who had him killed <em>for</em> when he was seventeen and now again?</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me about Jaebeom-hyung?”</p><p>“I figured Mark-hyung would.”</p><p>Yugyeom’s hand is on his waist, he’s dressed up, wristwatch hyungnim gave him glinting in the midday sunlight, his hair a little longer, more stylish than when he first arrived. Power always makes people more attractive. It’s no coincidence he and Mark thought the other would tell, Bambam feels they’re playing him to see who’s he loyal to. He wonders if he’s loyal to anyone at all.</p><p>Getting up, he leaves Yugyeom on the bed, goes about his wake-up routine as if everything is normal, feeds the cats, brews some herbal tea, then goes back and kisses him, mouth tasting fresh from toothpaste and peppermint leaves. He makes it casual, caring, as if that’s also part of his routine, plays with the lapels of Yugyeom’s jacket, kisses his neck affectionately.</p><p>“Alright,” Yugyeom whispers, “I’ll tell you stuff beforehand in the future.”</p><p>Bambam laughs against his mouth.</p><p>“You think that’s what this is about?” he whispers back sweetly, and Yugyeom jumps away from him. “I don’t care who tells me what. I wanna know <em>how</em> you keep leading people you hate to destruction.”</p><p>“I didn’t do nothing,” Yugyeom says, accent slipping. “Jaebeom-ssi had his hands dirty and got what he deserved.”</p><p>“Just like Jackson-hyung already had a gun to his head?”</p><p>Yugyeom turns to him, livid. Bambam smiles to make him angrier, because that’s the only way to make him confess anything.</p><p>“What the fuck are you on about?” he yells, “You said we were over it months ago!”</p><p>“Did I?” Bambam deadpans and he makes a face. “You <em>really</em> thought I’d get over something like that? Get a reality check, darling, this is our deal, you have me as I am: deceits, bitterness and all.” It’s the right thing to say because Yugyeom’s neck turns red and he stalks forward, grabs Bambam by the shoulders making his satin robe slip down. It’s the same as when he confessed to killing Jackson. “Why did you even want Jaebeom-hyung dead? What did he ever do to you?”</p><p>“You think your precious Mark-hyungie is an angel or what? <em>You</em> need a reality check, you should’ve seen his face when Peniel-hyung came up to us to tell he had dirty on Jaebeom, when I brought back more information, when I told him Lee was gonna use the wedding as a statement, he <em>laughed </em>because he was so excited about getting Jaebeom out of the way… And you should’ve seen Jaebeom-ssi’s face,” he laughs, high on his rage, “when he came to me before the wedding. ‘You’re finished’, he said, ‘I know you’re fucking Bambam and I’m telling the boss today, so you better run along before the priest is finished.’”</p><p>Bambam grabs the bedpost, dizzy.</p><p>“He knew?” he whispers, bewildered.</p><p>“He even said ‘what’s your psycho little master gonna do now?’ the bastard. And I knew he would be dead before he could say a word to the boss, how’s that?”</p><p>“But how did you know?” he asks again, but his voice rings too clear because Yugyeom sobers up and looks him in the eye. He curses inwardly for his own carelessness.</p><p>“You know full well that if you want to go anywhere in this place you need to mine information out of the right people, babe. Don’t pretend to be a newbie on your own game.”</p><p>Bambam drops back on the bed, exhausted. His mind keeps replaying Jaebeom’s body swaying back and forth with each shot, then tumbling down on Jinyoung’s arms. Except he keeps seeing the wrong face on that body.</p><p>Yugyeom kneels beside him, hand on his hair as if he wants to comfort him. Velvet jumps on the bed and Yugyeom pets him too. Bambam keeps his eyes open to stop that horrible vision and kisses him back, tries and fails to make a deal with himself about the way he feels about them all.</p><p>*</p><p>Hyungnim’s way to relax is spending time in Bambam’s apartment, spoiling the kittens with catnip toys and smoking with Velvet sleeping on his chest. It’s quite a scene, a man that tall and broad, all the sure lines of his body and his face contrasting with how small and still undefined Velvet’s features are. May comes and Bambam is thankful no one asks him if he wants a birthday party. The house feels eerie even with the reinforced security, and the only person who bothers to watch for him is Yoora. Youngjae is stubbornly still attending university, pretending no threats are looming over his head, and Bambam knows it worries hyungnim and Yoora to death, even if they keep quiet, but he says nothing because he understands it’s Youngjae’s way to cope, to hang onto the only freedom he has, one that all of them associate strongly with Jaebeom, since he used to drive Youngjae to class and back home almost every day if he was in town.</p><p>His birthday falls on a Saturday. Park-nim tells him to pack a bag, sits with him through a noticeably quiet ride on one of the bulletproof cars to the airport, where they board the jet. In half an hour they’re in a hotel by the sea, security people standing by every door, looking through windows, checking in at the rooms on each side of theirs to keep an eye on the area.</p><p>Bambam doesn’t like the sea. He supposes if he’d even been to a tropical beach he might enjoy it, but the ocean he knows is grey, cold and uninviting, as pretty as it looks. They stay by the private pool, have a nice dinner in the reserved room of a five-star restaurant, talk amenities until they run out of topics, then talk about the cats, because hyungnim is always proud of Silk and Velvet for whatever reason.</p><p>The next day Bambam wakes up too early, unused to sleeping on the same bed as his master. The sky is as grey as the sea, clear even with the mist still lingering to the little posts by the beach. He listens as the boss wakes up, walks to and from the en suite, shuffles on a robe.</p><p>“Are you unhappy?” Bambam asks him without turning around. There’s silence for a while, then a hand on his back.</p><p>“I guess I’m getting too old for this,” hyungnim chuckles, “too sentimental. I never wanted Nyong, Jae and you to suffer through a war. You’re young and have a lot ahead of you, that’s not the right age to be heartbroken.”</p><p>“I’m not <em>heartbroken</em>,” Bambam says, amused, and turns around to face him.</p><p>“You are,” Park says with the finality of someone who <em>owns</em> people. “About Markie. I know he let Jaebeommie be killed.” They keep quiet for a while. Bambam doesn’t know if he should agree, if he should for once tell his master something no one else knows. But Park-nim doesn’t wait for a response. “It’s genuinely horrifying when they kill someone close to us, isn’t it?”</p><p>He tries hard to reign it in, but he knows his face is crumbling. It’s not about Mark, who he always knew was a killer of the finest kind, although it was horrible to watch him let Jaebeom be killed right then and there. He closes his eyes to avoid crying in front of hyungnim but keeps thinking of Yugyeom blowing Jackson’s brains off and nobody else knowing. His master hugs him, right by the window, and for a wild moment, Bambam thinks they’ll be shot, that they’ll die by the same bullet on each other arms, blood bound forever.</p><p>“Happy twenty-five,” hyungnim says, and the moment passes. “And to imagine in five years you’ll probably be somewhere else on the other side of the world. I’ll miss you a lot.”</p><p>Bambam looks up at him. In five years, he’ll be thirty — or thirty-one, if he counts his real age — and hyungnim will be fifty-six, still relatively young.</p><p>“Why would I be overseas?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t let you waste off your whole life in captivity. You’re getting freed when you turn thirty, like Dom.”</p><p>“But why would I go away?”</p><p>“Oh, sugar.” Park kisses him on the forehead and caresses his waist, tinier than ever because he keeps losing weight. “Don’t tie yourself up to this hell, especially not for someone else. It’s not worth it.”</p><p>*</p><p>They fly back to Seoul on Sunday afternoon, go shopping and dine at Bambam’s favourite restaurant. It’s like Park-nim is stalling to go back to their normal routine as if he too is thrown off by the constant tension. Still, when they go back home and Bambam is alone in his bedroom he feels relieved. When it’s just him and the cats it’s easier to forget the fear and the queasiness that he’s come to associate with the rest of the house, and he can breathe a little better, enjoy his things without fear of looking insensitive.</p><p>The next day he wakes up feeling almost normal again. Violence has always been part of his life, he really should be better equipped to deal with it, and his own life isn’t on the line the way it was back when he ran from Daegu. He feeds the cats, makes some tea. They’re not having breakfast downstairs anymore, namely because Mark leaves for the office early, but Bambam is sure the two empty spots at the table mess up with his master’s head. Instead, Yoora sends Jihyo up to the penthouse with food enough for two, but Bambam doesn’t always go upstairs.</p><p>Since he feels so well and as a token of gratitude for the weekend, he takes the narrow stairs up after a shower, wearing soft pink sweats and make-up free. He still doesn’t feel like dolling up and looking at his thinning and tired face in the mirror is a lesson on its own. Park-nim is on the balcony playing with a juice straw.</p><p>“I thought you’d sleep in today.”</p><p>“I’m sleeping better,” Bambam says, sitting down and pouring himself some juice too, “so I woke up earlier.”</p><p>Park-nim nods. He looks distracted as if his mind is going in many different directions at the same time. Bambam doesn’t talk again, just eats and thinks of what he can do trapped in the house for the rest of the day. He misses his freedom, his cars, his favourite dance studio and hair salon, the shop girls he’s known for years and always have some fresh harmless gossip to chatter about while he tries on new collections. He’d love to see Jimin again, he’d seen her twice after Kim’s party, but they never had the chance to talk and she’s probably the only person with the experience to make heads and tails of the mess he’s tangled in. Park looks at him, face blank, and opens his mouth to say something just as the screeching sound of a car doing a sharp turn pierce their ears.</p><p>They’re on the side of a mountain, away from the main roads, and the sound came from the front of the house. The boss rushes him back inside and takes the lift down automatically as if expecting Bambam to stay put in the room. He sighs and takes the stairs until he meets Jihyo on the first floor.</p><p>“I was lookin’ for you!” she pants.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“They shot Mark-nim’s car!”</p><p>Bambam’s blood runs cold and the food he just ate threatens to come back up.</p><p>“Is he alive?”</p><p>“Yes, he lost two tires but Yugyeom-ssi was driving behind him and fired back at Lee-nim’s men, then brought Mark-ssi back.”</p><p>Making an effort to keep calm, he pictures the scene, a shootout in the middle of downtown, the car spinning under fire, Yugyeom ramming that dreadful black Jaguar he loves so much in the middle of it all and pulling an automatic out of the glovebox, Mark and his bodyguard running to him.</p><p>“Where are they?”</p><p>“In the annexe with the boss and Peniel-ssi. Everyone is fine, Yoora is helping them.”</p><p>“Is Youngjae at school?” he asks, thinking of Yoora, and of Youngjae’s hand covered in blood years back when he cut himself on a table knife.</p><p>Jihyo pales, presses her eyes closed. She’s not the type to let emotions show — none of them is — but she was bought in her teens and only managed to grow up somewhat well because of Yoora and Youngjae.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>They look at each other, afraid to say anything else. It’s just a matter of time now, and this time it might hurt more because as much as Youngjae is a half-blood master’s pet, he’s still one of them, one of the single-named honour-less objects that live to obey and serve all those men while they put their own and everybody else’s lives on the line.</p><p>He waits by the piano in the living room until Park-nim walks back into the house, surprisingly with Yugyeom following him. The second he closes the lift door, Bambam is running out, his shoes crushing the grass because he’s not going through the stone path. The annexe is locked but he knows the code, and when he goes up to the loft, he finds Mark on the sofa, legs crossed and tucked under him, wearing soft clothes and with his hair wet. Bambam registers the exact moment a drop of water falls from his fringe onto the unlit cigarette in his mouth.</p><p>“How are you feeling, Bammie?” he asks calmly.</p><p>“How am— I’m obviously fine, the one who nearly died here is you!”</p><p>“I’m fine, but you look pretty shaken.”</p><p>“Yeah, no shit.”</p><p>Mark laughs out loud, chucking the wet cigarette on the coffee table and getting another one.</p><p>“C’mon, sit down.”</p><p>Bambam sits beside him, feeling slightly afraid because Mark is clearly not on his right mind, but upon close inspection, his pupils are the normal size and he’s pale as usual.</p><p>“What now?” he asks, realising he still has his shoes on and quickly untying them, then lacing his hand on his lap to avoid fiddling. The ruby ring catches the light.</p><p>“Want a smoke?”</p><p>“No, thanks,” he says and procures one of his own from his pocket. All the windows are closed, the curtains drawn. There’s no way of knowing what Mark is going through.  “Did you know you’d be targeted today?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Weren’t you supposed to?”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>He has the strong impression Mark is playing dumb but decides to let it slide and see where he wants to get to.</p><p>“If your men are able to find out when and where Jaebeom will be killed they should be able to know too when it’s your head on the line.”</p><p>Mark nods and puts a hand on his lap, palm upwards, like an offering. If feels as if something between them has been changing for the last few months, the partnership they always had turning more intimate, or maybe Bambam’s just reading too much into every act.</p><p>“Yugyeom knew,” Mark says, head tipped against the backrest. “He wasn’t supposed to come with me, just took the car last minute and drove behind us.” He turns, eyes piercing. His head is probably a mess but, as usual, he doesn’t let anyone help him.  “I used to be very sure you’re not capable of this kind of love, but you do love him, don’t you?”</p><p>It’s a trick question and Bambam doesn’t know how to answer. He is still sure he’s incapable of <em>that</em> kind of love, otherwise, he would’ve fallen for Jackson or maybe Mark somewhere down the line, but he still has something for Yugyeom none of the others ever had.</p><p>“I don’t know if it’s the type of love you’re thinking, hyung, maybe it’s just because he’s my brother.” Just as he says it, he understands, despite what he said a few months back: Yugyeom does have a stake on him the others don’t, one that drove him to do whatever he could to keep him alive when they were kids and simultaneously to run away when he was a teenager. It’s something he can’t put into words, too contradictory even to himself. Mark keeps looking at him, still a mess he can’t fix. “You have to stop him from digging your grave.”</p><p>“That’s what I can’t crack. I and Park-nim get our hands dirty, you come to us to wash the blood off and fuck the psychosis out. Yugyeom plots something, you come to me <em>absolutely sure</em> he’s planning to have us all killed.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Well, I need you to explain this train of thought.”</p><p>“It’s complicated.”</p><p>“I’m a highly intelligent man. Is it because he’s your baby brother and we’re just random people?”</p><p>“Yes and no.”</p><p>Mark sighs.</p><p>“Fine, keep your secrets, then, and I’ll keep mine.”</p><p>“What are you <em>talking</em> about?” He doesn’t even care if Mark makes him beg for the info, the only thing he doesn’t want is another go of that horrifying ignorance he felt about Jaebeom’s demise. “I don’t care if you kill or torture as many people as you want, that’s your job. The fact that you have to drug yourself into oblivion is way more worrisome to me, you know I try to fuck the psychosis out of your head because I’m afraid of you overdosing. Yugyeom is a whole other story, he goes after people because he enjoys ruining them, I know because that’s what he did to <em>me</em> all our lives. You never tried to fuck me over, so don’t start now.”</p><p>He prays for Mark to drop the subject, his mind going back and forth from the place where all he sees is Jackson’s death and he can’t bear to talk about that nightmare yet. His cigarette is about to end, so he snubs it on the crystal ashtray, gets up to get something to drink. The only thing he finds is martini, so he pours two glasses, drops a lemon slice in each, stirs some iced water in his. Mark takes the glass without question and they drink in silence.</p><p>“You know Big Johnny?”</p><p>Bambam nods, puts the glass on the table and lights another cigarette.</p><p>“One of Lee’s high ranks, right?”</p><p>“Yes. He has a prize on his head because he was involved with Jaebeom’s double-dealing and he was caught fucking Lee’s companion.”</p><p>“Alright”, he says, keeping his face blank.</p><p>“Kim’s heir Minseok said if Big Johnny manages to off Park-nim he’ll make Lee welcome him back into the house.”</p><p>“What does Kim want getting involved in this?”</p><p>Mark laughs out loud and puts a hand on his arm as if a prize on his boss’s head — a boss known for being diplomatic — is the funniest joke in the world. It might be, considering they have enough intel and strength to prevent the attack.</p><p>“More money, of course. He thinks Jaebeom was the underboss and with hyungnim off the game I’ll be easy prey.”</p><p>“Dumb move.”</p><p>“Little does he know he’s doing me a favour,” Mark says nonchalantly. Bambam’s blood runs cold. “It would take a huge amount of time and resources to play a coup against Park-nim, with the obvious risk of all of us being found and killed. But now? The only people with this information are under my orders, he’ll never know what hit him.”</p><p>“You can’t—” he stutters, horrified. Something very thick is lodged in his throat and he doesn’t know why, he’s not one of those Stockholm Syndrome slaves who love and protect their owners against the world, he knows his master is a criminal who does every sort of bad thing the world has to offer, that being betrayed and gunned like a dog is what he deserves, but still… he can’t get his mind wrapped around Mark of all people sitting back and enjoying that. “You’re gonna do this <em>again</em>?”</p><p>“Why not? It’s convenient.”</p><p><em>It’s genuinely horrifying when they kill someone close to us, isn’t it?</em> says hyungnim’s voice inside his mind. He looks at Mark, at that rag of a man wrung out from all the scheming and depravity, the drugs and violence worship. He wonders what goes on inside a mind like that, so driven for things he can’t have.</p><p>“Everything is convenient for you.”</p><p>“Don’t whine, you’ll be free and get about ten million dollars from the will.”</p><p>Bambam gets up, empties his glass in one go.</p><p>“I know you think it’s the right choice,” he says, and Mark stops halfway through lighting another cigarette. “But I think you’re digging your own grave.”</p><p>Mark doesn't get up but reaches a hand out.</p><p>“Bam—”</p><p>“But I don’t matter, hyung. You’re boss.”</p><p>“Of course you do!” Mark gets up, grabs him by the shoulders. “We’re in this together.”</p><p>“If that’s how you’re gonna do your business I want no part in them.”</p><p>Mark’s face falls. For one moment, Bambam thinks he’ll reconsider the whole thing, but all he does is slide his hands down Bambam’s arms, grab his hand and kiss it. The sentiment is weird, too tender for them.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says, and someone who knew him less would’ve believed.</p><p>“No, you ain’t.”</p><p>Bambam leaves him by the sofa, unlit cigarette in one hand, hair wet, eyes darker than ever. He goes down the stairs slowly, trying to wrap his head around all that. He doesn’t even know when will his boss be killed, maybe the next week, maybe in six months.</p><p>Unsurprisingly, Yugyeom is waiting for him by the door.</p><p>“How is Mark-hyung?”</p><p>“Fine, I guess,” he pauses, calculates if it’s beneficial to be honest. “We had a disagreement about Kim-nim wanting Park-nim dead.”</p><p>“Why is Kim getting involved now?” Yugyeom asks, eyes big. Bambam doesn’t believe him for a second.</p><p>“Money, of course. Suppose you don't know anything about this?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Of course, darling. Of course,” he walks down the hall, goes on his tiptoes and kisses Yugyeom in the lips. “You did an amazing job today.”</p><p>The annexe has those tall and narrow windows that create light like celestial swords. A blade is slicing through Yugyeom’s face as he smiles and kisses Bambam back.</p><p>“I try my best, babe.”</p><p>*</p><p>He doesn’t know when the ambush is happening, and he doesn’t ask. He grips the edge of the bathroom sink and wills his stomach back in place, breathes painfully through the retches and the bile until the world stops spinning. He has to get a grip on himself or someone else will, because it’s been ten days since Mark told him about the plot and he’s been doing his best to live normally, after Peniel came back with Youngjae safe and sound, but his body keeps betraying him and waking him up from lurid dreams to throw up and pace his rooms like a caged animal.</p><p>Outside is the darkest hour, when the sky starts to turn colour and all the stars are blanketed by the clouds, the dull light just enough for him to see his way to the garage, boots silent on the grass. The car keys are on their usual peg, the keyring marching the sleek lines of the brand-new BMW he got for his birthday and never drove. It’s a <em>deja vu</em> of that last night with Jackson except for this time he’s driving on his own: no rough hands are holding his face, there’s no voice on his ear calling his name, offering to drive him up to the temple, and he has to struggle by himself. With the windows up, the tinted glass makes the light even deader. The guard by the gate lets him out without question and once again he’s forced to wonder how many of them are loyal to Mark now.</p><p>*</p><p>The road is the same, but it’s been years and the cities have swallowed the roadside, sleek high-rises giving away to distressingly small houses with paper-thin walls built so close to the asphalt that black soot covers their doorsteps. He knew, objectively, that the poverty was getting worse through the years, but knowing is one thing, seeing is another. There are children everywhere, unattended, starved, dressed in dirty rags. They run after the cars, yelling and laughing, unafraid of the monstrous speed everyone is driving, and never has the collar around his neck weighted so much.</p><p>There’s no telling where the last city ends and Daegu begins, the mass of concrete and scrap metal all the same, carcasses of cars rotting on the side just as they were before. He drives on through half-remembered streets, recognising the factories and some buildings, although most of them have more graffiti than paint out, past the nicer streets Jackson used to live in.</p><p>The graveyard is a ruin of overgrown bushes and graffiti as well, abandoned for who knows how long. Children follow him from a distance as he walks inside, and he sees their hungry bodies, their desperate eyes, and sees himself in them, sees Yugyeom, the long-lost Lola, Jimin. The street over the wall on the other side of the yard is busier and dirtier, full of people walking by and ignoring the dead. It takes him a while to find Jackson, but he's in there, with his mother. Their tombstone is covered in moss and scribbled profanities, but when he kneels in front of it, there's a barely discernible graffiti, set apart because it's written in English, saying in capital letters: “<strong>SURVIVE</strong>”.</p><p>It’s too much. Bambam has never believed in guilt, he knows there’s no point suffering for things beyond his control, but this hits too close, he <em>knows</em> the trigger wasn’t pulled by his own finger, but he enabled it. And he’s enabling it again, right this moment, and miles and miles away somewhere in Seoul there’s a man about to murdered because Bambam can’t bring himself to be better.</p><p>He cries, ugly sobs racking his body, making him feel everything he bottled up for years. He cries because he hates to be powerless, to be alone, he wants Jackson to come back so he can apologise and ask him to hold on a little longer, wait until Kunpimook can come back for him. He wants to kill this disgusting weak thing that lives inside of him and makes him indifferent and selfish. He wants Yugyeom with his whole body, every breath a scream of agony because Yugyeom is all he has left.</p><p>He stays there for a long time, tears rolling down his cheeks and feeding the earth under his knees and palms, just like Jackson's body fed it years before. The children stay with him, silent and watchful until the moment is broken by the screech of metal. It's a girl, no older than twelve, pushing a wheelbarrow that's clearly too heavy for her. She leaves it a few paces away and approaches Bambam, her hair and face so dirty and messy all he can discern are her large eyes.</p><p>“Mista,” she says, and he doesn't know what startles him more, the dialect or the formality, “can yah gimme some? Fo’ halmoni?” she asks, eyes travelling between him and the wheelbarrow.</p><p>He looks over, and it’s like a bullet going through his chest. An old lady is laying on it, clearly dead, her body like an older version of the girl, and Bambam remembers, from when Yugyeom's father died and left them nothing, how he went knocking at each of their neighbour's doors asking for money for the burial. He has never hated being a slave as much as he does now.</p><p>“I ain’t got no cash,” he replies lowly, dialect coming back like it never left. He feels like he never left: his heart was buried on those dirty streets, behind the trailer park, under the ugly dilapidated school he never finished. The girl blinks at him, at his tear-stained face, her own also smeared with dust and salt. He thinks about how in another life, he might have had to bury his mother and his brother like that, too. He thinks about how he will still probably bury Yugyeom on a quite different grave.</p><p>A car screeches to a stop behind him. The girl looks scared now, but Bambam holds her by the hand.</p><p>“Wait, please,” he says and turns around, facing Mark. He’s dressed for the office and there are three men with him, no Yugyeom in sight.</p><p>“What the fuck is going on here?” Mark asks, and the bitterness in his voice is startling.</p><p>Bambam expected to face a wall of fake indifference, not this ominous frown Mark hardly ever wears, and he wonders if there is an answer to that question that makes sense to anyone beside himself.</p><p>“Listen,” he starts, gets choked up, points with his chin at the girl, still hanging from his arm with scared eyes, “help her.” He sees some of the other kids come closer, new tears flowing out of his eyes. “She needs to bury her halmoni.”</p><p>He watches as Mark’s eyes inspect the scene, his flinch of horror when he spots the woman’s dead body, the way all blood seems to rush from his face as he pulls out his wallet and squats to be face to face with the girl.</p><p>“What’s your name?”</p><p>“Yuna.”</p><p>“That’s a very lovely name. Listen, Yuna, don’t use everything I’ll give you to bury your grandmother, alright? I’m sure you need other things too, save as best as you can, find something to eat, buy a coat, maybe some new shoes, what do you think?”</p><p>“A’right mista.”</p><p>The wad of cash he puts on her hands is nice and thick, all dollars. Korean currency is so worthless the papers had been publishing pictures of kids playing with large piles of it.</p><p>“Is that enough?” Mark asks, apparently sure a child that age knows the cost of keeping herself alive. Maybe she does. Kunpimook knew.</p><p>“Yea mista, thanks fo’ this.”</p><p>Mark nods and rises back up. Bambam lets go of her little hand and doesn’t dare to look as she leaves, wheelbarrow screeching.</p><p>“So, that’s where you came from,” Mark says without looking at him, eyes on the filthy yard.</p><p>“Me and Yugyeom, we used to live a few streets up north at the social housing estate.”</p><p>“Why did you come here now?”</p><p>“I came to apologise.”</p><p>“To whom?”</p><p>Bambam looks down at the graffiti. <strong>SURVIVE</strong>. The diamonds and gold of his collar feel heavy and cold around his neck.</p><p>“Jackson-hyung was probably the only person ever to really care for me,” he confesses, and Mark looks at the grave too. How much he says about himself is inconsequential now. “He tried to protect me, gave me money, helped me sell myself. He loved me and all I did was set him up to die, ‘cos that’s what I do to people who love me, apparently.”</p><p>Mark looks at him and for a moment he looks shocked, then his face melts into something more understanding.</p><p>“Yugyeom-ah killed your boyfriend…”</p><p>Bambam laughs bitterly.</p><p>“He wasn’t even that, I kept rejecting him ‘cos I thought I’d be bad for him.” he laughs again, “look how well that worked. He was a genuine guy, Sonnie-hyung, he owned a flashy BMW, smoked Reds, I used to steal them from him all the time, he got so mad at me for smoking,” he rants, and Mark keeps staring at him. “His friends were all nice too, all pretty fucked up, we all were, but it was good to have them.”</p><p>The sun is starting to get high in the sky, its light burning white because it’s nearly summer, bouncing on the concrete and the weeds. Mark is a lost piece of polished downtown Seoul in the middle of the garbage and graffiti, Italian dress shoes being ruined by the dirt of the cemetery. Bambam feels empty like the day he was bought, surrounded by uncertainty, scared of his dependency on those people.</p><p>“Come on,” Mark says, hand on his arm. “I’ll call the house to say you’re fine, then we’ll send the guys back with the car and we can buy some flowers, drive around for a while.” He pauses. Bambam can’t read him, just like when they first met, and he was pleasant and distant. “There’s a lot we need to prepare for.”</p><p>*</p><p>Mark asks to drive and Bambam asks for them to visit the temple.</p><p>Silence on a temple is always huge and empty, swallowing them. Bambam feels it like a hug of familiarity, the bright expanse of the sky above the patio like an endless dome encasing him. Mark looks around, curious and confused, follows him when he takes off his shoes to walk inside the hall. The incense smells the same, spicier than the kind the Christians burn, and the big pool is well kept, even if the whole building looks older, tired. They walk back to the patio and Bambam observes many of the walls look like the paint was washed off them by the rain.</p><p>“I used to think this was the most beautiful place in the world.”</p><p>“I’d never been to one of these,” Mark says, hands in his pockets. “It’s… nice,” his voice is hesitant, “makes you feel like every problem is a million worlds away.”</p><p>“Mother used to say the same thing. Her favourite holiday was Buddha’s birthday fest because it’s close to my birthday, I remember we always brought rice and fish cakes, a recipe from her aunt, I think, they’re called Tod Man Pla, but we couldn’t afford the proper fish to make it, so she used fish paste from the store.”</p><p>Every May he felt the temptation to ask one of the cooks to learn the recipe and make it for him, but he knew it would be cruel to himself. Now he wonders if he can learn it himself.</p><p>“And Yugyeom-ah?”</p><p>“Has always been too restless to meditate, mother couldn’t bother forcing him to come.”</p><p>Mark opens his mouth to speak but his phone rings in his pocket.</p><p>“Shit, sorry,” he curses, then picks up the call and walks off to the end of the patio.</p><p>Bambam, left to his own devices, wanders to the main worship hall, the one he always avoided as a child because people from downtown flocked to it, curious about the golden walls and adorned altars. He bows to the monks automatically and they no doubt see his collar but say nothing. Maybe some of them knew him as a child, helped his mother mourn when he disappeared. There is a wooden urn for donations below one of the incense burners, with a small opening for bills. He kneels there, remembering the girl with the wheelbarrow, stone digging into his knees and making him awfully conscious of himself.</p><p>He unties one of his bracelets, a string of European cut diamonds worth over forty-thousand dollars that hyungnim bought from a collector many years back, and carefully drops it inside the urn. He remembers asking for enlightenment as a child in this very temple, but after so many years, the only light he expects to bring into the world is the superficial glitter of precious stones.</p><p>Mark is waiting for him when he walks out. He has something in his hand, fist closed around it.</p><p>“It’s over,” he says, and Bambam doesn’t understand until Mark walks behind him and starts unlocking his collar. “It’s over,” he says again, lower, slower.</p><p>The sun is scorching hot, bathing them in white. The patio floor undulates with the heat burning through his shoes, the sky a plain slate of blue about to fall on their heads. For one moment he thinks the heavens will strike them where they stand for their impertinence. His neck feels naked and yet cleaner without the band of gold around it for the first time in a lifetime. Mark’s face is blank, his eyes pensive, left hand holding the open collar. Bambam realises he’s witnessing the birth of a new era.</p><p>He bows ninety degrees and grabs Mark’s right hand.</p><p>“My honour and devotion are yours to keep.”</p><p>He says these words for the first time, the words of s free man swearing allegiance to a boss. The ground is so white his retinas burn.</p><p>Mark pulls him up, a tentative smile softening his beautiful features. It’s in no way how Bambam imagined him receiving his first pledge.</p><p>“What is mine is yours,” he says, and kisses the palm of Bambam’s right hand, right against the platinum ring he never takes off. “To have and to own, to keep and to destroy.”</p><p>Bambam’s eyes sting but he refuses to cry any more.</p><p>“Until death do us apart,” they say, together, with only the sunlight for witness.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>MARK</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>Yugyeom is waiting for them when they walk back into the house. For the millionth time, Mark notices the weird tension between him and Bambam but now he can pinpoint every look they share, the way Yugyeom’s eyes linger on Bambam’s pale neck, how Bambam looks at him with a disconcerting intensity while he bows and kisses Mark’s hand to pledge his loyalty. Park’s body is still in the hospital where the ambulance took him.</p><p>“They rigged the car like you guessed,” Yugyeom says when they’re in the privacy of the annexe office. “Bang-nim has the head of the mechanic who did the job, he’ll probably send the guy to suffer in India or something. Lots of blood on the road and press attention, though.”</p><p>“We’ll manage,” Bambam says airily, as if two hours before he hadn’t been through a crisis in a decaying Buddhist temple.</p><p>“Where did you run off to, by the way?”</p><p>He once again fixes Yugyeom with that look. Mark is sure he’s not even conscious of it, otherwise, he’d try to hide it behind some affectation.</p><p>“Daegu,” he says and Yugyeom stops halfway through lighting a cigarette. “Went to the graveyard and the temple.”</p><p>Mark is standing, pouring the drinks, so he can see Yugyeom’s foot start to bounce.</p><p>“I read the will, you’re free now.”</p><p>“I know. Hyung took my collar off after he got the news.”</p><p>Mark sets the glasses on the low table. He feels transparent, an immaterial witness of something Bambam and Yugyeom never dare to show anyone, maybe never did their whole lives. It’s mesmerising how they move around each other like opposite magnets, an unbreakable tension between them that Mark knows if they flip turns in to a force of absolute union. They make a gorgeous couple.</p><p>Yugyeom stays silent, right hand playing with the lighter, left still holding the unlit Camel. Bambam cracks open the pack of Reds he bought on the way back from Daegu, lights one with Mark’s lighter, washes his brandy down in one go.</p><p>“We need to start calling people for the funeral,” he says, “relatives first, then the bosses, then the business partners and politicians. Do you still have that list I drafted, hyung?”</p><p>Mark nods.</p><p>“I’ll tell Yoora to get some food ready, it’s best if you call everyone at night and with a full stomach. Take a shower too, I don’t think any of us is sleeping today.”</p><p>He leaves, and Mark marvels at the uncanny control he has over situations, which he had even when he was young and scared to be in this new, hostile environment. Yugyeom is calmer without him there, reading through the testament and highlighting things according to how fast they need to be executed. Mark drops on an armchair, reasoning that he, in fact, needs a shower and food, but just as he’s about to go upstairs and build himself up he remembers he was supposed to call Jisung that day. He looks at his wristwatch and realises it’s past midnight in California, so the boy will be in bed and Mark has lost his window. He makes a worried noise because Yugyeom looks up at him.</p><p>“Everything alright, hyung?”</p><p>Getting up, Mark sighs.</p><p>“You know, Yugyeomie, I’m starting to believe Bammie when he said I was digging my own grave.”</p><p>*</p><p>It takes them ten days to get the funeral ready because they have to wait for several people to arrive from overseas, get the body embalmed and prepared so it doesn’t look like the mangled meat the emergency services dragged out of the car wreck, clean up a lot of documents and bank detail so the will can be read.</p><p>It’s also a religious service, and Mark puts Yugyeom through the task of finding a priest with a heart good enough to lie about a man like Park Hyungsoo. They have a memorial written for the papers, which creates an uproar with the international free press that has been pointing fingers at the Korean corruption crisis for years. Regardless, all government congresspeople, as well as many diplomats, send their regards and flowers to mourn the loss of a “talented and progressive man”. When the day comes the recently appointed U.S. Ambassador, a Korean American called Park too, shows up in person.</p><p>Jinyoung flies back with Dom. They stay at a hotel downtown, where Mark goes to have dinner with Dom the evening before the service. He asks about the business, about Jaebeom’s death, about the war.</p><p>“It’ll probably end now,” Dom says between bites of roasted duck.</p><p>“That’s what Bambam is betting too.”</p><p>Dom looks at him, dark hair framing his brown eyes where fine wrinkles have begun to appear. They’re all old now, even Bambam, who used to be their baby Bambi.</p><p>“You give him a lot of power,” Dom says, and Mark just shrugs.</p><p>“He deserves it.”</p><p>The next day they leave the house on the bulletproof limousine, dressed in black, an entourage of security cars behind them to carry the staff. Park’s sister doesn’t show up, and from her silence, they understand she got into trouble trying to fly back. The priest gives the speech, a beautifully worded lie about charity and hard work. The service is simple and beautiful, under the summer morning light, a white tent keeping the sun off their eyes.</p><p>After the coffin is lowered, people start to come forward to drop flowers in the grave, mostly white roses. Jinyoung and Dom go together, their roses red, their eyes dry. Mark keeps noticing how different Jinyoung looks from when he left the month before. Each and all of them, after paying their respects, come and pat him on the shoulder, eyes downcast: Min, Kim, Choi, Bang, Hwang, every single boss but Lee, who stays away surrounded by his men.</p><p>Bambam is the last to go. Companions can always be told apart in a crowd, young and manicured to perfection with elaborate makeup, dressed like runway models. A girl, no older than nineteen, is wearing a pearl necklace Mark can count twelve strands on and looks excessively ostentatious for a funeral; her owner Min Song probably doesn’t care, as she’s wearing an emerald parure worth more than his new Maserati. Even among them, Bambam stands out with his black satin suit, Italian leather shoes, silver-white hair styled back to show the double row of earrings, the Cartier bracelets and the fully iced wristwatch he brought for himself last winter peeking from under his sleeve. He’s wearing the ring, platinum gleaming timid among the rest of the jewellery, and Mark’s eyes follow the ghost of red from the tiny ruby that holds the band together as he reaches behind his neck, clicking open his collar.</p><p>Mark used to like his first collar, plain solid gold, thin, and Bambam wore it over a velvet choker on the first years. The one he’s wearing now was made to celebrate his five years of service and was worth around a million dollars but was also too thick and flashy with all the diamonds, even if it looked good with the rest of the jewellery Park gave him. There is a quiet collective gasp as Bambam puts his hand forward and drops the collar in the grave, the earth’s darkness swallowing the diamonds’ unique light like an omen of their demise, Min’s companion turning pale and clutching at her massive necklace as if someone would ask her to bury her pearls too.</p><p>Amused, Mark rises and steps up on the little podium vacated by the priest. Bambam wrote him a few lines he didn’t bother memorising, and now he regrets it because his mind is too busy to form anything remotely adequate.</p><p>“Our house appreciates you all for your care, respect and compassion in this moment of grief. Park-nim was a remarkable man who left his mark on the world with the power of his words and wisdom,” he pauses, eyes straight down to avoid looking at Bambam or Dom, but his sight crosses with Jinyoung’s, who has an ironic eyebrow raised, “and he’ll be deeply missed by all of us who grew to depend on his council. Once again thank you, and may God bless you all.”</p><p>*</p><p>The will they read later that day is a redraft of the document the boss wrote before Bambam was bought, and the biggest difference in between the two versions is the fate of the three highest-ranking slaves in the house. Yoora and Youngjae get their freedom, a million dollars in cash each and the right to use the surname Park, as it’s custom for house slaves, along with three proprieties downtown in Youngjae’s name, a fund to pay for his college tuition, another for their health insurance and a document they can sign if they want to recognise Park-nim as Youngjae’s father, a nice save from the scandal Jinyoung’s dead father left behind. They sign. Bambam gets his freedom, his current market worth — ten million — in cash, all his personal possessions, including jewellery, cars and luxury items, and the right to choose a legal name.</p><p>Jinyoung gets twenty million, multiple company shares, another three proprieties downtown, a jet, the house in Kyoto and an apartment in Singapore. He also gets the money, shares and proprieties intended for Jaebeom, as his widow. Mark gets the biggest number of shares — carefully calculated to surpass Jinyoung’s and Jaebeom’s combined worth — alongside the mansion, the Chief Executive position for the three companies that hold the house’s business, along with all the slaves. He doesn’t get any money because Park knew he wouldn’t need it, but he gets the house in Los Angeles, a beautiful vintage modernist house in the Los Feliz neighbourhood he immediately thinks of giving Jisung as a birthday present.</p><p>Nobody seems upset. The rest of the will is a long list of smaller tokens for friends, favourite employees and distant relatives that Yugyeom can now sort on his own as Mark’s personal lawyer, so he steps out of the office to bid Jinyoung and Dom a short goodbye before they drive to Incheon to fly back to Paris where both are living. As he’s about to walk back inside he hears Bambam’s cutting voice.</p><p>“I’m <em>obviously</em> not!” he’s spiting. Mark can’t see his face but can imagine the twist of his lips.</p><p>“You’re ridiculous, this is the chance of our lives, you know, finally have some peace and live the way we want.”</p><p>Bambam laughs dryly.</p><p>“The life who wants, exactly? Because you’re an adrenaline junkie, don’t even bother denying it. I won’t leave the house regardless, and you might as well put your psychotic mind to use as Mark-hyung’s lawyer.”</p><p>Mark uses that as his cue to open the door. Bambam is standing by the window, Yugyeom still on his chair clicking his pen.</p><p>“Have you thought about your name?” he asks Bambam, who shrugs.</p><p>“I’ll go back to Kunpimook if you manage to pronounce my original identity as dead. The surname is trickier, I don’t want my old one back, and Park is Jinyoung’s surname so absolutely not.”</p><p>“The surname doesn’t really matter,” Yugyeom says, chin on hand, looking up at Bambam, “you’re getting mine after we get married.”</p><p>Both Bambam and Mark freeze and look at each other. Of course, he knew with Yugyeom in the picture their plans had to change, no more convenient weddings wearing insoles, no more swapping the platinum ring to Bambam’s left hand. Knowing and realising seem to be hugely different things for both of them.</p><p>“And have your father’s name?” Bambam says, smiling and sitting at the desk to pull his new papers closer. He puts a hand out and Yugyeom gives him his pen. “Besides, Kim Kunpimook sounds like a fake celebrity name,” he purses his lips and writes down his birth date — the fake one that makes him the same age as Yugyeom — and place of birth — Seoul — then puts “unknown” for both his parents, until all is left is his name.</p><p>Mark feels the tension as if he too has something at stake. The pen hovers above the paper and they wait. Bambam looks up at him, then, and smiles.</p><p>“To keep and destroy?” Bambam asks. Mark feels a pang in his chest.</p><p>“Yes,” he says. Bambam looks down and writes. Mark looks away before he can see him finish the “Tuan”.</p><p>*</p><p>The other bosses take their time to visit and give their recognition. The first is obviously Bang, now their closest partner because of Yugyeom’s ties to them. Then Min and Choi, who he knows are visiting just to gauge if he wants to buy any more slaves. Senator Park Sungjin visits them with the Minister of Economy, Kim Wonpil. Congresswoman Hwang sends her wife and their couple of twins the same age as Jisung. They don’t expect Lee to show up, but he does, with his second son in tow.</p><p>In the meantime, Yugyeom manages the paperwork, Peniel redesigns the security detail, and Mark tries to keep sober to avoid being a burden for them. He’s a boss now, and even if they’re not a family business he still owes his employees his best behaviour. Bambam catches up with his new philosophy and uses it to push a new political and financial agenda, and of course to convince him they need to build a new mansion somewhere farther from the city.</p><p>Bambam hires Yoora back to manage the house and the rest of the slaves, plus a friend Mark has seen before at parties and eventually gauges used to be a hooker with him in Daegu and is also Yugyeom’s ex. The woman, called Jimin, is tiny, furiously sarcastic, and takes over the planning for the wedding Bambam had been begrudgingly pretending to do for the last month.</p><p>After two months the only absentee is Kim-nim, an example of his contradiction as Park’s closest partner and orchestrator of his death.</p><p>“Maybe his conscience finally caught up with him,” Jimin says when they bring the topic up at dinner. Yugyeom snorts a laugh into his wine.</p><p>“If that man had any conscience, he wouldn’t treat his slaves the way he does,” Bambam says while patting Yugyeom on the back. “The day they get back at him, justice will be served.”</p><p>Mark says nothing because Bambam already told him one of the companions at Kim’s household is selling intel for the FBI. The following week the story blows up, seriously uncooked but still damaging, and the youngest of Kim’s sons, Jongin, has to flee the country. Kim shows up at their door, then, still as arrogant as ever. He, even more than Lee, believed Mark would be a weak leader and seems to be put off by everything, from Yugyeom’s veiled insolence to Bambam’s presence in the office as a business consultant.</p><p>“He got so upset when I said his deal wasn’t profitable anymore,” Bambam laughs afterwards, forehead against Yugyeom’s shoulder. “And then, even more, when he realised he couldn’t tell me to shut up.”</p><p>Kim, who’d never been lenient with his servants, now seems to hold a grudge against all companions, current and former. Mark silently prays his own rule lasts enough to protect Bambam from him.</p><p>That afternoon Yugyeom leaves with Jimin to arrange the reservations for the wedding ceremony at Jogyesa temple and the reception at Bang’s five-star hotel. Mark retreats to the small office in the penthouse, forcing himself to read everything Yugyeom has already finished and left waiting for his approval. The letters blur in front of his eyes and he swallows around the familiar itch to get a hit. There’s a stash in the empty annexe, safe from everyone since Bambam and Yugyeom have the bigger rooms on the second floor, and Jimin has Bambam’s old rooms beside them.</p><p>He lights a cigarette instead, inhales deep, tries to concentrate on the taste of the menthol and the burnt tobacco. For the millionth time, he wonders if any of that is worth the effort.</p><p>He’s so taken by his thoughts he doesn’t hear the lift and only breaks out of his reverie when Bambam opens the door.</p><p>“Are you alright, hyung?”</p><p>The lie comes up, smooth and sweet. He swallows it back and just sighs. Bambam sits on the carpet between his legs, head on his knee. On that position he always looks younger, an evocation of that seamless obedience he had from the first day and took years for Mark to learn wasn’t a trait of his personality, but something he reserved for people whose authority he respected.</p><p>“You need to learn how to ask for help, Markie dear.”</p><p>Mark laughs, threads his fingers through his freshly dyed hair, a warm golden brown, a reminder of how alive they still are.</p><p>“I’m trying.”</p><p>“I know you are, and I’m thankful for that,” he pauses, eyes ablaze like he’s trying to read into Mark’s soul. “I’ve got something for you.”</p><p>He moves a little and Mark takes his hand off so he can procure a small box from his pocket. He recognises the size and the brand and knows it’s a ring. The engagement ring Yugyeom chose is a square cut emerald on a gold band. The one Bambam presents to Mark is platinum with a ruby, a thicker sibling to the one he’s still wearing on his right hand.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Mark asks. He’s not dumb, he knows how territorial Yugyeom is, jealous of even the smallest things.</p><p>“Remember when I first arrived, how scared I was? Even with all the training, I was afraid to be humiliated, abused, to screw up and be discarded. Nothing the auction house did could’ve prepared me for the reality of this life, but when you gave me this ring, I knew it was just a pretty piece of metal, but to me, it was a message that you would back me up as I learnt, too. This one is the same, but with our roles reversed.”</p><p>Mark feels again that pang in his chest. The want to fuck everything over and give in to the allure of a chemical blanket is still there, but he grabs at the ring like a lifeline, slides it on, and out of sheer nostalgia, bends down and kisses Bambam on the mouth.</p><p>“Are we set?”, Bambam asks, smiling against his lips.</p><p>“Yes. To a new beginning.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is my favourite of this fic's chapters (nobody can prove it's got anything to do with the amount of Bambam/Mark content) and has some of the best scenes I've ever written. So, yeah, I hope it made a good read!</p><p>Also, there isn't really a song for this chapter, but I've come to accept the song for Bambam and Mark's relationship is Love is the End by Keane.</p><p>As usual, thank you all for reading! See you soon for the last chapter 💚</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Ciphered Liaisons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <strong>BAMBAM</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Bambam curses at his phone again and Seungmin laughs.</p>
<p>“The phone service is shit even at the airport, that’s why this country’s sinking,” he whines just to make Seungmin laugh more. Jimin is walking ahead of them, heels clicking and freshly painted nails gleaming under the harsh lights. She always travels with her stylist in tow and in this occasion the woman was handy because there was a storm in Hong Kong and they left three hours late, landing just an hour before Yugyeom’s birthday party.</p>
<p>“The chopper’s already waiting, hyung. And Tuan-nim knows we have landed,” Seungmin says. Bambam can’t even remember why he was hired in the first place — it was one of Jimin’s ideas, she has only gotten bolder over the last five years, capable and sharp in handling power like it’s her second nature — but the boy is pure gold. “At least it’s not raining, we’ll make it home in a couple minutes.”</p>
<p>Bambam has already come to terms with being late to a party he was supposed to host and mentally apologises to Yugyeom for leaving him to fend with the guests on his own, but after Hong Kong’s humidity and the long flight he <em>needs</em> a shower and a face mask. The helicopter is ready to fly when they reach it, from there is all smooth sailing and they land on the house’s helipad, where two golf carts are waiting for them.</p>
<p>The estate around the mansion is so huge they can’t go anywhere without a cart. Mark complains about it all the time but Bambam knows he likes to drive around through the small park and stroll on the rose garden. Bambam’s favourite parts are the huge ponds and the pool house. It all took a small fortune and four whole years to build, but since it was finished in the summer he feels happily settled. Yugyeom’s party is partially a house opening, and all the lights are already on, the fountains sprouting water backlit with golden hues, the pool glowing, the living room converted into a ballroom with the grand piano in a platform since Youngjae is in town.</p>
<p>He takes the side entrance and the lift up to the master suite on the left wing, the one Yugyeom chose for them. As expected, it’s already empty, so he undresses, showers off the worst of the grime while the bath fills, slathers a thick layer of green tea and collagen mask on his face and lays in the water, taking a deep breath for the first time in hours, maybe days. The speakers are already on with some Tibetan bowls. He has fifteen minutes before the water starts to cool down, so he sits up straight, crosses his legs, bows his head and lets his mind go.</p>
<p>
  <em>The plane was too cold I can’t get a cold does Yoora have my vitamin C tablets? I can’t remember where they are is Jimin well she sounded a little hoarse I didn’t ask her if Ambassador Park is coming I hope he is Mark will get entertained but anyway Jinyoung can do that for him shit what’s Jinyoung doing tomorrow Chan is bringing Jisung and he can’t be home I’ll ask Yugyeom later or maybe not Yugyeom either why does Mark have to keep this child a secret we’re so tired of this song and dance all the time what time is it? The water is still warm but the song is different wonder what will Youngjae play tonight the new repertoire is amazing just hope the grand piano is tuned we can’t have a fiasco this whole thing in Hong Kong is a fiasco Mark needs to step up I can’t handle it on my own why does it feel like I’m carrying them all on my shoulders they’re all grown men and only Chan doesn’t make me do his job at the station if the Ambassador doesn’t come I’ll ask the Foreign Affairs Minister about Kim’s extradition why am I so stressed out it’s just a party the mask is sliding down my neck I can’t believe it this cost so much but my face feels so fresh now I think I’ll wear the red suit instead of the blue the sky looks so clear today it doesn’t even look like November sky the new jet is so smooth, water smooth, the flight feels seamless…</em>
</p>
<p>He opens his eyes when the music stops. The world has a brand-new quality as if his eyes have been washed. His mind is silent, smoothed at the edges. His skin tingles from the bath salts. He feels alive and clean.</p>
<p>The red suit is fitting him a little tighter because he put on some weight since September but still looks gorgeous. He does his hair quick and efficient, dabs some tinted moisturiser to keep the mask’s glow on his skin, some lip tint and eyeshadow to keep him looking fresh. He chose the jewellery before going overseas and it’s inside a special box, where he finds a small package inside with “Gorgeous as always” written in Yugyeom’s handwriting on a note attached to it. Inside is a lovely yellow gold chain with a serpent pendant, its body intertwined on itself and its eye a single emerald. He puts it on along with the rest of his accessories, sprints his favourite evening cologne and goes back to the lift bank, this time taking the main one that opens into the hall that joins the three wings.</p>
<p>Half the guests have arrived already, and he walks among them smiling and catching champagne flutes to shove in the hands of whoever hasn’t one yet. He stops in the parlour where some people have flocked to looking at the art to talk to Yoora, who’s wearing a gorgeous bottle green dress that accents her delicate Jimmy Choo’s.</p>
<p>“I thought you were wearing that blue Valentino you got tailored in New York last month,” she says, hair cascading from her shoulder as she looks him up and down.</p>
<p>“Change of plans, was in the mood for some red.”</p>
<p>“It won’t make a difference, Yugyeomie is wearing black as usual. He’s in the office on the phone with his mother.”</p>
<p>Bambam makes a face. He knows it’s hypocritical, but Yugyeom has the creepiest relationship with their mother, which ends up being a blessing since it’s made her uncaring enough to never ask to meet his husband.</p>
<p>“And Mark-hyung?”</p>
<p>“With Ambassador Park. Jinyoungie has just arrived, he’s in the living already.”</p>
<p>Bambam nods, getting the message. Jinyoung came back to Korea two years after Park-nim was assassinated, and a few months later he and Mark started to date. The new context made him appreciate Bambam — or pretend to for the sake of appearances — but he kept on absolutely hating Youngjae, who only showed up when he was free from his job at the London Symphony Orchestra. He finds Youngjae at one of their friend’s table, eating and talking about something so artsy Bambam can barely understand, and Jinyoung just hovering around greeting people.</p>
<p>“Looking great, hyung.”</p>
<p>“Bam-ah!” he smiles, perfect teeth on show. “I was looking for you.”</p>
<p>Bambam pulls him to a table by the door and waves one of the servers over, because he’s starving. Jinyoung’s doe eyes dart around the room but always slide back to Youngjae, who is posing shyly for one of the photographers hired by them.</p>
<p>“Is it true Kim-nim will be extradited from the country?” Jinyoung asks, now focused on the sea bass and caviar canape being served.</p>
<p>“I heard about it… through the grapevine,” Bambam replies and they laugh, “I’m hoping to find Ambassador Park, or maybe Foreign Affairs Minister Kim, and ask him. But it’s probably true, it’s long due the U.S. catches up with the shit he does.”</p>
<p>“You think he’s coming tonight? Mark-hyung told me he was invited.”</p>
<p>“Honestly doubt it, he knows Park Jaehyung-ssi and Jiminie are dating, besides, I think he couldn’t control himself if he saw Minister Kim face to face.”</p>
<p>They laugh again. A lot of what they do is gossip about people around them. Jinyoung came back less resented but despising the people he grew up around, so most members of the other houses are victim to his judgement which is, most often than not, correct. Except for his politician friends, especially Minister Kim, Seungmin’s uncle, that he went to school with, and the whole Hwang clan, that he has a strange adoration to.</p>
<p>Mark comes through the door, with Seungmin close behind him but busy talking to the oldest Hwang boy. Mark sits beside Jinyoung, who greets him with a kiss, but when he talks it’s directed at Bambam.</p>
<p>“Is this suit new?”</p>
<p>“No, hyung, I bought it in the summer when you were in Shanghai.”</p>
<p>“Looks exceptionally good on you. Should we order the dinner up?”</p>
<p>“Is Yugyeom-ah still on the phone?”</p>
<p>“Jiminie went to rescue him. He’ll be out just in time to have everyone seated.”</p>
<p>Bambam nods and turns in his seat to find Seungmin, who meets his eye and reads his lips as usual, and goes out of the room, the supermodel Hwang kid still trailing after him, and only then he remembers they’ve apparently started dating a few weeks back.</p>
<p>A while later the guests are all seated, music flowing with their voices, and the chicken mushroom soup is being served. Yugyeom walks in, waves at people, smiles, ducks his head when he passes by Yoora as if apologising for being late to his own party. He sits beside Bambam and picks up his silverware in silence. The soup is delicious, a creamy base packing different textures and flavours, and Bambam turns to Mark.</p>
<p>“I told you sending the cooks to culinary school was worth it, none of us would’ve come up with the concept for something like this.”</p>
<p>“Don’t nag me about my servants at dinner, it’ll give me indigestion.”</p>
<p>“Hyung, don’t be dramatic, you can stomach much worse,” Jinyoung says, and Bambam looks at him to laugh but catches a glimpse of the face Mark is pulling: plain, lips straight, eyes fixed on Jinyoung’s face.</p>
<p>Yugyeom makes a sound, so Bambam turns to him instead.</p>
<p>“I wish the soup was a little spicier, actually,” he says. Bambam laughs and shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Imagine Mr Gordon Langman over there trying to digest any spice and failing miserably halfway through the dance,” he whispers. Yugyeom snorts a laugh against his spoon, barely avoiding spraying soup all over the linen tablecloth.</p>
<p>“You’re terrible,” he whispers back, expression gone soft, whatever dark thoughts he had upon entering the room gone for now.</p>
<p>The main dish is a complicated recipe of pork belly confit filled with black pudding — Bambam tries not to focus too much on that, he hates blood food — and cabbage and puree, the pork belly soft and saucy after being cooked for hours, and everyone looks happy. Mark always accuses him of being pretentious, but he enjoys serving slightly outrageous food at those big gatherings just to create an experience. They don’t talk much over it, because what they truly want to talk about doesn’t fit with the fine food and Jinyoung’s presence.</p>
<p>The dessert is a decadent whisky and chocolate cream with coffee and caramel, the plating delicate. It fits Yugyeom personality, with the coffee and the whisky, the warm dark colours, the general bitter and deep flavours.</p>
<p>“I really like this one,” Yugyeom tells him when they’re halfway through.</p>
<p>“Jiminie’s suggestion,” Bambam says and Yugyeom nods. He seems to forget, sometimes, how well Jimin knows him. Bambam looks around to gauge how are people acting. “I think we should wait a little bit, then ask Youngjae to play while the cake is brought up, Gyeomie can cut it while the parlour doors are opened,” he says to Mark, who seems to have his mind far away and only nods automatically. Jinyoung, who was looking at Mark as if waiting for him to say something, snaps his eyes to Youngjae.</p>
<p>The music is fantastic. Bambam can’t pay the attention it deserves while presiding over the process of carrying the giant cake from the kitchens, but Youngjae brought a cellist friend to accompany him and they sound gorgeous, especially when he sings. The guests clap like there’s no tomorrow while fresh champagne is served. When the cake is settled Mark rises and asks for everybody’s attention.</p>
<p>His speech is something nice and generic about loyalty and hard work, half-lies that they’re all trained to half-believe. The cake is plain vanilla with three tiers, meant to be served with citrus ice cream. Yugyeom keeps an arm around Bambam’s waist while they sing him a happy birthday and he cuts the first slice, obviously given to Bambam, who smiles and kisses him to the thrill of the crowd.</p>
<p>After they take the mandatory photos together, they drift to the parlour, then through the door that leads into the bridge over the pond. The music reaches them a little softer, the weather still warm for a November night. Yugyeom takes his hand and places an arm around his waist. They rarely dance at parties and it feels special, just them over the bridge, the light of the house behind him, his eyes on the gloom of the rose garden.</p>
<p>“Happy birthday, darling,” Bambam whispers, hand going from Yugyeom’s shoulder to his face, making the light bounce on his emerald engagement ring, stacked with the wedding band and a new diamond ring to commemorate their fifth anniversary. Yugyeom looks beautiful and pure in the moonlight, pale skin glowing against his black suit and black hair. “I loved your gift.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom smiles and pulls out the delicate chain from under his collar, fingers stroking the serpent.</p>
<p>“I was out with Zelo-hyung, saw it and immediately thought of you. How was Hong Kong?”</p>
<p>“Hot, humid, poorly managed. Please don’t make me talk business now.”</p>
<p>“Of course not, love. Did you try the cake?”</p>
<p>“I did, it’s good. You’ll find it too sweet.”</p>
<p>“That’s why I’m asking you, I’m not touching that thing with a ten-foot-spoon.”</p>
<p>They laugh, heads together, and someone catcalls. Bambam recognises Jimin’s voice.</p>
<p>“Is she with Jaehyung-ssi?” he asks with his face hidden on Yugyeom’s neck while they sway from side to side, barely dancing at all.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Jamie and her rich tall bad boys,” he says and winks, making Yugyeom blush. “She’s got good taste.”</p>
<p>The song changes, Yugyeom gives him a lopsided smile and lets go of him to light a cigarette. Bambam considers lighting one of his own but decides against it since he’s already been smoke-free the whole day. He’s been trying to quit for months but the best he can do is keep to one smoke a day, right before bed, otherwise, he can’t sleep. Smiling apologetically, he takes a step back.</p>
<p>“I’m going back in to see how’s everything going, alright?”</p>
<p>Yugyeom nods through a drag Bambam envies with his whole chest and he walks off as fast as he can without running.</p>
<p>He passes by Jimin, hanging from Park’s arm, and by Yoora, swirling a glass of wine on her manicured hand, rings glinting, but he can’t find Mark or Jinyoung, and wonders if they’re off somewhere fucking, even if it would be completely off character for them. Youngjae is at the bar, a small crowd chatting him up.</p>
<p>“Enjoying the fancy attention?” Bambam stage whispers. Youngjae laughs loudly as he always does.</p>
<p>“Nothing I can’t find back home.” A young model Bambam only knows from Instagram and that is probably attending as a plus-one makes a very offended face, making Youngjae smile back at her. “You’re cute, sweetheart, I’m just not interested.”</p>
<p>“Surprised Jinyoungie isn’t here giving you the stinky eye.”</p>
<p>“He dragged Mark-hyung off somewhere. Man, you should’ve seen their faces.”</p>
<p>“Good faces or bad faces?”</p>
<p>“<em>Horrible</em> faces! Mark-hyung had his poker face on, of course, but Jinyoung-hyung was like, brewing up a whole storm.”</p>
<p>Bambam looks at his drink, contemplative. He leaves Mark for three days and when he comes back, he’s fighting with Jinyoung, because considering the weird tension around them at dinner this fight has been going on for longer than tonight.</p>
<p>“At least if they break up, we won’t have to handle a divorce,” he says, a little bitter.</p>
<p>“I’ll never understand why they ended up together, with the way Jinyoung-hyung acted you’d think he’d look after someone with anything in common with Jaebeom-hyung, not his rival.”</p>
<p>Bambam, who often wonders things along the same line, just shakes his head. He knows Mark likes Jinyoung for his personality but also because he’s high-quality arm candy, but that’s not something he can divulge. Mark himself walks in then, sans boyfriend.</p>
<p>“Does anyone have a lighter?” he asks. Bambam notices his tie is a little loose, but his pupils are the normal size. “I forgot mine in the office.”</p>
<p>Youngjae offers his and Mark lights one of his horrid menthols. Bambam sighs, giving up his goals, and lights one of his Reds.</p>
<p>“Where’s Yugyeomie?”</p>
<p>“In the garden,” he says, and chooses not to ask about Jinyoung. Mark looks drained, which makes the rest of the night dangerous territory of they want to keep him sober. “Let’s go back to the parlour, you can see all the lights from there.”</p>
<p>He does see Minister Kim there but doesn’t risk leaving Mark alone to drag him somewhere for intel. Instead, he pulls Mark along to talk to the guests, choosing carefully to avoid frustrating people, forces Mark to play nice with their friends until he looks livelier. The heavens maybe hear him because the music gets uplifting.</p>
<p>“Dance?” Mark asks out of nowhere, just as he spots Big Johnny walking in behind Lee’s companion. Bambam nods and lets him take his hand.</p>
<p>The song is nice, bright, nothing they’re used to, so they keep laughing when they miss the tempo. Bambam feels people’s eyes on them but he can’t be bothered. The song ends and he expects Mark to let go of him, but he keeps up through the next one, slower, slightly sultry. He uses the proximity to his favour, then.</p>
<p>“Bang Chan is bringing Jisungie tomorrow to see you,” he whispers. Mark’s hand tightens on his waist. “Is Jinyoung sleeping here?”</p>
<p>“No, he’s already left. Just ask Detective Bang to come after lunch, I need to talk to you first.”</p>
<p>“What’s wrong between you and Jinyoung-hyung? Youngjae-ah said you were arguing earlier.”</p>
<p>Mark’s face doesn’t fall, or change in any way, he just sighs and shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Jinyoungie is… we’ll figure it out sometime. It’s nothing.” Bambam nods, worried, and gives his face a soft pat that makes him smile and shrug. “Seeing the boy tomorrow will be nice.”</p>
<p>“It will.” Bambam looks around, sees Yugyeom standing against one of the doors, silhouette cut out by the lights. The song is about to end. “Come on, before the birthday child gets too jealous and plots your assassination.”</p>
<p>Mark laughs out loud, face going soft as it always does when he’s happy, but his voice is sardonic when he says:</p>
<p>“Little does he know, Bammie dearest.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The sunlight wakes him up and he spares a few seconds to watch Yugyeom’s long limbs sprawled on the bed, his chest rising and falling softly. Then he feeds the five cats, takes a warm shower, brushes his hair and puts on something comfortable. He’s too tired to go for his routine run around the estate, so he makes one cup of tea and one cup of coffee and goes back to the bedroom to wake Yugyeom up. They drink in silence since Yugyeom is still too groggy, then he goes to his studio to reply to his emails, check his agenda and read the papers. Yugyeom walks in an hour later, smelling like sandalwood shower gel and premium tobacco.</p>
<p>“Slept well?” he asks, and Bambam turns his head to smile at him.</p>
<p>“Yes, love, thank you,” he replies and accepts the kiss on the neck. Yugyeom keeps kissing down his shoulder, so he takes his hands off the laptop and relaxes. “You apparently slept <em>very</em> well.”</p>
<p>They gravitate back to bed, losing pieces of clothing on the way. The sex is lazy but efficient and afterwards, he lays on the drenched sheets and basks on the sunlight, pleasantly sore, head turned to watch Silk clean himself on the windowsill. Yugyeom is always on clean up duty, so he’s the one to turn on the shower, draw the bath Bambam likes for after sex and pick up the stray clothing around the rooms. Bambam stays there, letting his mind go wherever it wants while his senses tingle from the rush of orgasm.</p>
<p>“Are you going anywhere today?” Yugyeom asks when he comes back to take him to shower.</p>
<p>“No, just have a meeting with Jimin and hyung after lunch.” He stands up and feels the come dripping down his thigh, always a little alien.</p>
<p>“Would you mind driving me to the office? I left the car there yesterday.”</p>
<p>“No, not at all. We could leave earlier and have breakfast out.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom seems to like the idea. They shower, stay on the bath kissing for a while until Velvet walks in to meow at them. They dress, Yugyeom in one of his suits, Bambam in just jeans and a shirt, then finally take the lift to the car gallery. Bambam chooses the Aston Martin.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry your gift didn’t get here on time.”</p>
<p>“So it’s a car!” Yugyeom exclaims, excited. “I knew it was something big, Jamie told me it was coming from overseas but wouldn’t tell me what it was.”</p>
<p>“Alright, it’s a car, but I’m not saying what brand or model, it’s the best surprise.”</p>
<p>They drive to a bistro fifteen minutes from the office and get a table on the roof with a view of the river. The food is delicious and the coffee rich enough to please Yugyeom, the servers and the <em>maître</em> know their orders by heart, and none of the people they hate eat there. It’s peaceful and fulfilling. Bambam realises how he’s been seeking peaceful experiences for the last few days and makes a mental note to go to the temple before the end of the week. He leaves Yugyeom at the office and drives back home, passes by the kitchens to ask what’s for lunch, goes up to finish what he started in the morning.</p>
<p>His main job is watching over Mark’s money, which means the whole house’s money, and he has to keep himself finely tuned to financial trends around the world, to potential endangerments of their assets currently deposited in tax havens, to possible laws that might sniff the tricks they play with the companies Park-nim created to keep the house’s business semi-legal. By the time Jihyo calls him to lunch he’s got himself a massive headache over the oil price, but at least one of his connections in the U.S. Congress sent him a copy of the enquiry Kim-nim will face when he’s extradited.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He and Mark have a quiet lunch, just the two of them on the huge table, both too absorbed in their own worries to make conversation. After they rise it’s a waiting game until Chan arrives with the boy, one they fill with a long and tiring argument about the purchase of the hotel complex in Hong Kong because Bambam firmly believes the whole thing would work out smoothly if Mark went there personally, but he keeps refusing.</p>
<p>“Why in all hells are you so <em>stubborn</em>? It’s <em>your</em> business, your fucking hotel, just take the jet over, show your pretty face and spare me the headache of handling all those people!”</p>
<p>“It’s your job to negotiate the purchases.”</p>
<p>“I know! But you’re the boss, and what they kee—” he shuts up when there’s a knock on the door.</p>
<p>“Tuan-nim, Detective Bang is here,” says Tzuyu, bowing her head quickly.</p>
<p>“Let him up,” Mark says and waits until she’s gone to roll his eyes at Bambam. “I’ll throw something at <em>your</em> pretty face if you don’t man up and solve this yourself, and by January at best.” He gets up from his chair and waits.</p>
<p>Tzuyu opens the door again to let two men in. Detective Bang and his assistant shake Mark’s hand and get seated. When the door is closed Jisung gets up and lets Mark hug him.</p>
<p>“Stop squeezing me, dad!” he protests, but his eyes show how happy he is.</p>
<p>Mark lets go of him and sits on the edge of the desk. He looks younger when Jisung is around, even if it should be the opposite, having a child who’s already twenty-one should make him look mature.</p>
<p>“How are things going?” Mark asks while Jisung sits on an armchair.</p>
<p>Bambam switches his focus from them to Chan, who’s sitting on the sofa beside him as usual.</p>
<p>“Any new exciting cases?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Just the usual boring pace, we don’t have the papers to kick down that big boss’s door yet.”</p>
<p>“Speaking of, I’ve something to show you.”</p>
<p>They move to Bambam’s studio, that has a gorgeous view of the garden pavilion and was decorated like an Art Nouveau extravaganza. Bambam shows him the copy of the enquiry, a token of trust that doesn’t mean much because he’s sure most of the other bosses have one of these too.</p>
<p>“I always thought that mess with Baekhyun would have consequences, but this is something else entirely,” Chan says, bent over the laptop. “He’s ruined.”</p>
<p>Bambam sits on the edge of the desk and crosses his legs.</p>
<p>“No one will be crying when he gets locked up.”</p>
<p>“Did he show up last night?”</p>
<p>“Or course not,” Bambam smirks when Chan’s hand goes to his knee. “None of his boys came, either. Speaking of coming—”</p>
<p>Chan rolls his eyes and gets up, landing a playful slap on his hand.</p>
<p>“Stop it, I told you it was a one-time thing.”</p>
<p>Bambam stays put, head cocking a little to the side, eyes narrowing.</p>
<p>“One square is still one, Channie.”</p>
<p>“I can’t believe you’re using Maths to get me to fuck you. Not working, you little demon.” It’s fun because Chan is light-hearted enough to take everything on a stride. Bambam rolls his eyes at him and gets up to serve two drinks. “It’s not like you’re dying away in celibacy either.”</p>
<p>“But my husband is not <em>fun</em>! And you’re a cop! It’s rebellious to fuck a cop on the side.”</p>
<p>“You just want me for my badge.”</p>
<p>They clink their glasses together and take a sip.</p>
<p>“The badge and all the other stuff too, you know. If you’re ever bored… just give me a call.”</p>
<p>They finish the drinks while going over a dozen other pieces of information they need to exchange. Mark believes the best way to keep officials off their tracks is still Park-nim’s method of being in touch with the police, and Jisung deciding to be a junior detective the year before probably reinforced his resolve to keep the cops on the loop in exchange for immunity.</p>
<p>When they get back to Mark’s office, he’s showing Jisung one of the vintage revolvers he keeps behind glass on the wall. His form of parenting is ridiculous and dangerous, but since Jisung is a grown man and a cop and the grandchild of a mob legend Bambam doesn’t see how it can do any damage beyond convincing the boy his father is a complete psycho, something they all know is a little true. Chan reminds Jisung they have to drive back to where one of their colleagues is waiting. When they leave, Seungmin is the one to accompany them downstairs, which means Jimin is home.</p>
<p>Bambam pushes a hand through his hair and watches Mark play with one of his custom “grown-up” Rubik’s cubes by the window, then glances at his watch, shrugs, and goes up to drag Mark to the couch.</p>
<p>“Your pet cop isn’t putting out?” he has the gall to mock, falling on the cushions with no resistance. “Bet he’s afraid of Yugyeomie.”</p>
<p>“He’s just being nice, but who cares,” Bambam kneels on the carpet between Mark’s legs, “he’s hot as fuck.”</p>
<p>“Never thought you’d get it up for a guy as nice as that.”</p>
<p>“What?” Bambam finishes unbuttoning his dress shirt and undoes his fly, “Am I supposed to always be gagging for sordid dicks like you?”</p>
<p>“Shut up, you love my dick, come on.”</p>
<p>Bambam rolls his eyes and opens his mouth.</p>
<p>“Don’t mess up my hair.”</p>
<p>Mark replies by grabbing a fistful of the strands and pulling on them as Bambam sucks him down. He goes slow at first, but the tickling urge he got from Chan keeps bothering him and he throws caution on the wind and sucks hard enough to deepthroat the way Mark likes, just to hear him moan and get his hair pulled harder.</p>
<p>They finish just in time for Bambam to run upstairs to fix him hair, then his phone rings and he takes the lift down to sign the delivery of Yugyeom’s gift, a custom black Tesla, another toy for him to show off when he’s out with his college friends. Yugyeom himself arrives when he’s finished putting the bow on top of the car and sprints out of the Audi he was driving like the anxious child he is at heart.</p>
<p>“I can’t believe you’ve beat everyone to this!” he says, turning the car on to give it a test drive around the motor gallery. “It’s probably the only model in the country!”</p>
<p>“I know, love, we had to ship it from the Emirates.”</p>
<p>They decide to debut the car that night by going out for dinner. It’s mostly Yugyeom’s idea, but Bambam doesn’t mind, he supposes he owes him some wishes since he spent his whole birthday week overseas. Bambam takes his time feeding the cats while Yugyeom undresses and gets his shower ready. Velvet is purring on his lap when Yugyeom walks into the bedroom frowning.</p>
<p>“What were the cops doing here today?”</p>
<p>“What? You mean Detective Bang?”</p>
<p>“Whatever his name is, that cop, what did he want?”</p>
<p>“He’s one of our liaisons.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom makes a face, walks off and Bambam hears the shower start. He puts Velvet on his pillow and starts choosing his clothes.</p>
<p>“And what were you liaising about?”</p>
<p>Bambam takes a deep, silent breath.</p>
<p>“Mostly Kim, then some detail on the reports the metropolitan police is drafting now.”</p>
<p>“Are they going for Kim yet?”</p>
<p>Taking off his clothes, Bambam looks himself up and down in the mirror, making a mental note to ask his yoga teacher for some exercises to build better core muscles before his stomach has started to look like pudding. He guesses it’s to be expected, now he’s over thirty.</p>
<p>“No, they’re waiting for the higher-ups,” he hangs the chosen outfit up and selects a pair of shoes.</p>
<p>“Fucking hell, at this pace we’ll have to handle Kim ourselves,” Yugyeom says, voice high the way it gets when he’s riled up.</p>
<p>“Alright, I’m done talking about this,” Bambam says with finality and walks into the bathroom, not in the mood to handle Yugyeom’s trigger-happy way of fixing things. “Are you done?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, are <em>we</em> done?” Yugyeom asks, eyebrows rising. Rolling his eyes, Bambam walks up to him; without heels, he’s the perfect height to kiss a droplet of water sliding down Yugyeom’s collarbone before putting his arms around his neck. Automatically, Yugyeom sits down on the shower bench and Bambam turns the water back on, straddling his lap.</p>
<p>“What’s got into you?”</p>
<p>“Don’t know, I’m just worried we might get caught up in the scandal.”</p>
<p>“We have it sorted, now just think about the Tesla and relax, love.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom’s chuckle melts into a moan when he starts stroking him. Bambam doesn’t even need any preparation, just a handful of lube over Yugyeom’s cock and a deep breath before he’s leisurely riding, enjoying the drag and the pressure on his prostate, and above all how his husband finally shuts up about things he doesn’t understand.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>JINYOUNG</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mark’s bedroom windows face East. The sky is not yet dawn, it’s milky and grey, reflecting the low clouds, the fog, the thick snow that fell after Christmas and Jinyoung’s eyes travel slowly over the peaceful, dead sight of the garden. All things dead look peaceful, unlike the living who feel haunted by them.</p>
<p>He’s been dreaming again, somehow first and third person, powerless as Jaebeom is shot down, again and again, his blood like a dark poisonous ink blooming over the breast of the beautiful suit Jinyoung chose for him. In death, he looked still. In life, he was only movement, the strength of a thousand storms, a bottomless whirlpool that ran and swirled around Jinyoung.</p>
<p>Mark is never in the dreams. He used to be, before, but the more familiar Jinyoung became with his touch, his taste and his voice, the more he understood Mark and Jaebeom should never inhabit the same place. In life, he was the stillness of the awaiting predator Jaebeom never managed to escape from.</p>
<p>Blood and gunpowder have a distinct smell one can never forget once they taste it, once that rankness gets stuck on the back of their throat, especially after their hands get warm from the trigger. It took him years to know whose hand was actually behind the trigger that killed Jaebeom. Years of learning the secret alphabets they all spoke, the language of no words, only bodies. Yugyeom’s language, in particular, is aborted sentences and filthy whispers that make him blush and hate himself, but it’s Yugyeom’s language he can still speak the best, and that’s why he knows whose hand directed the trigger.</p>
<p>“Jinyoungie,” Mark says. “It wasn’t personal.”</p>
<p>But of course, it is. It’s his wedding day, it’s <em>his</em> day, the only day he was ever allowed to shine brighter than all of them.</p>
<p>“He didn’t do anything to cause it,” Yugyeom said, a cigarette between his long fingers, hand dangling from the balcony of Jinyoung’s hotel room. It was very cold then, Berlin’s winter dry, merciless. “But he didn’t do anything to stop it, either,” he tasted like Camels, warm, bitter, way more bitter than Jaebeom’s Reds, than Mark’s tacky menthols. “And he should’ve.”</p>
<p>And of course, he wouldn’t, they had hated each other too much. Jaebeom setting himself up for death was a blessing to all of them.</p>
<p>“It was his own fault.” Mark’s language is aborted touches and thoughtful sentences, and Jinyoung wonders if to Bambam that translates correctly. “I knew it too late.”</p>
<p>It’s too late. Jaebeom’s blood spilt on the marble, the photographs of Jinyoung clutching the body on the papers like a modern, dirty Pietà. No one ever had any mercy for them, no one ever washed the blood off his hands and his white wedding suit, he was left to clean after himself on his own, to learn how to navigate the old and the new labyrinth of a mansion Bambam built for Mark, to wash the blood of a sinner with another sinner’s blood. The first ray of sunlight breaks through, pink and fresh, white and luminescent through the window, over the red pool.</p>
<p>“I know Jaebeom-hyung died because of you.”</p>
<p>They were beside the pool when he first said that, spring breeze carrying his voice over the water.</p>
<p>The guests were supposed to wear blue, it was supposed to bring out the colour of the flowers. Mark’s suit was too dark, the fabric too thick, but his linen white shirt had blood on the cuffs: Jinyoung noticed at the car ride back to the house. The cuff links were rubies on platinum, like the ring he would be wearing a few months later. Jinyoung’s engagement ring had been white diamonds, so clear they could make rainbows for themselves, Art Deco because Jaebeom knew his favourite artists. Mark’s and Bambam’s rings are on the wrong hand, but the right finger, and the only thing he never asked Yugyeom is if he saw them, if he knew those two only belonged to themselves and to each other, if he feels as lost as Jinyoung felt.</p>
<p>The blue of the pool had nothing on the spring sky from a sun already so bright every single piece of jewellery looked ablaze. Mark had taken off his jacket and walked around the water, his fingers had briefly touched Jinyoung’s wrist, and his voice was soft. Mark’s language only changed for Bambam, who got an arm around the waist and careless snarky laughs.</p>
<p>The red pool of blood expands, a perfect circle, and he takes a step back. The gun falls on a table, the cherry tree wood so shiny it’s a mirror, now scratched by the hot metal. His hand brushes over a corner, his eyes follow the path of sunlight slicing over Mark’s body.</p>
<p>When Jaebeom fell dead on his arms it all stopped: time and heartbeat, sensation and feeling. His blood washed down the marble steps along with all hope Jinyoung ever had, mingled with dirt and absorbed by greasy cement. Mark’s floor is marble too, a church they built to worship their own money and power, and the blood once again starts picking up the cracks on the stone, branching out like veins of an inky, round heart.</p>
<p>In death, Mark is movement: the rhythmic spill of blood and sun around him, once again a sullied Renaissance painting. The door to the bedroom bursts open, it all starts, the whirlpool of danger he thought lost forever takes him again as first Peniel, then Yugyeom, then Bambam come in. Peniel’s men stay by the door, but he walks in, stops paces away from the body on the floor. Yugyeom takes a handkerchief and cleans the gun.</p>
<p>The place reeks of hatred and blood, the way the old mansion did. Dawn breaks over Bambam’s ashen face as he kneels on the blood, puts a hand against Mark’s chest: his right hand, the ring a burst of red twilight, alive. His head is bowed, his back to the room, and yet Jinyoung watches as twin tears leak through his lashes, as he blinks and the salty water is lost to the dark silk of Mark’s pyjamas; his left hand is holding Mark’s right, their skins covered in sticky red-black, mockingly ritualistic.</p>
<p>Until death do us part, he and Jaebeom had sworn, only for death to part them minutes later.</p>
<p>Jimin walks in with Seungmin. Time feels still now the sun is fully out, but the great clock in the corner still sways its pendulum and ticks its hands.</p>
<p>“Suicide?” she asks.</p>
<p>Bambam rises, his knees and hands stained, right hand closed in a fist. Mark’s ring is gone. He sighs, eyes travelling to the lifting fog.</p>
<p>“For all purposes, yes. Suicide.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>BAMBAM</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Bambam walks down the stairs on a daze, feet carrying him to the office on their own because he can barely register anything beyond the roar in his ears. In the half-light of a new-born day, he looks down at his hands and sees the blood embedded between his fingers, slowly opens his fist to reveal the superposition of reds, Mark’s favourite gem and Mark’s blood in his hands.</p>
<p>The water runs pink over the sink for a long time. The small safe behind Mark’s desk mocks him, and it hurts to type the code it’s been ingrained into his brain for years, hurts to carry the burden of another death in his name, to admit the final strike of having lost Mark too.</p>
<p>Struggling to focus, he takes away the pages of the testament that have to do with Jisung and locks them back in, sits on the big chair and drags his hands through his hair. Mark’s tiny dog, Dime, runs off his bed by the corner to jump on his lap, sleepy and excited in his puppyish way, still unaware he’ll never listen to his master’s voice again, or play with him on the grass field around the helipad.  Bambam’s eyes sting. He isn’t ready.</p>
<p>He isn’t ready.</p>
<p>Jimin and Seungmin walk in quietly, and he straightens up, tries to take solace in their presence. Jimin takes his hand with a feather touch, bows and kisses it. Seungmin follows her. There’s still blood under his nails.</p>
<p>“Yugyeomie is with Jinyoung-oppa now.”</p>
<p>He slumps back on the chair, a sob breaking through his lips. Jimin hurries to hug him and he lets himself cry, gives the anger some outlet before he’s forced to be whole again. Eventually, the crying subsides, and he accepts a drink from Seungmin, breathes in and out a few times, dries his face with one of the tissues Mark left in the desk drawer. He isn’t <em>ready</em>.</p>
<p>After he’s built his face back in place, Yugyeom arrives, eyes zeroing on the folder with the will.</p>
<p>“They’ve taken the body, Jinyoung-hyung is in the shower.”</p>
<p>“You can arrange the funeral,” Bambam tells him, eyes closed. “Just make it simple, we can’t have a scene.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure we’re labelling it as suicide?”</p>
<p>Bambam bites his tongue, bitterness and anger rising again. He struggles to reign in his temper, takes another drink, looks at Yugyeom in the eye.</p>
<p>“We can’t have a scene,” he repeats forcefully. He can feel Jimin’s eyes on him. “Get it?”</p>
<p>“Are we reading the will already?”</p>
<p>Jimin answers before he can react to the disgusting curiosity in Yugyeom’s voice.</p>
<p>“Yes, Seungmin-ah was about to go call Peniel-oppa and Jinyoung-oppa. Have a seat.”</p>
<p>Bambam gets up and moves to one of the armchairs, lets his husband have one last moment of power. Peniel joins them, and a few minutes later Jinyoung arrives, pale and wet haired. Yugyeom settles on the big chair behind the desk and starts to read.</p>
<p>This testament was drafted by Seungmin many times as he tried to appease both Mark and Bambam. By Bambam’s request, all the house slaves get their freedom and a decent amount of cash. Yoora gets a few stocks in exchange for her continuous loyalty. Jinyoung gets mostly tokens of affection since he’s already loaded, and Bambam is surprised at how docile he is about that. Yugyeom and Peniel both get the same amount of money, shares and estates.</p>
<p>He watches Yugyeom’s face fall as he reads, as he slowly realises what it means to have his name in that part of the document. Then he reads the part that says Bambam gets all of Mark’s executive positions, the biggest shares, the mansion, all of Mark’s money and his home in California, and is named as the executor of the will.</p>
<p>“I can't believe he left everything to <em>you</em>,” Yugyeom spits with both hands on the desk, body leaning forward. Bambam slides down on his seat.</p>
<p>“I can't believe,” he says back, slowly, “that you thought you’d be boss with that attitude.” He looks at Jinyoung, then back at Yugyeom, who has that tell-tale crease on his forehead. Jimin and Seungmin are expressionless. “Peniel-hyung, I remember you saying something about going back to America.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Peniel nods, and if he’s surprised, he hides it well. “Sir”, he adds as an afterthought.</p>
<p>“Now would be a good time. Just wait for after the funeral, please. Needless to say, what you saw in the bedroom upstairs this morning <em>never happened</em>, as I’m sure you’ll let the men who followed you in there know. Jamie will take over your position.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. Thank you.”</p>
<p>Bambam straightens, levels a look at Yugyeom, who’s back to his usual indifference.</p>
<p>“Like I said, the funeral is up to you. A burial. Use Park-nim’s lot,” he adds as a jab to both Yugyeom and Jinyoung, then rises. Jimin, Peniel and Seungmin rise in tandem, Jinyoung just looks up at him with glassy eyes. Yugyeom stays behind the desk while Peniel bows and kisses Bambam’s hand. “If you need me, I’ll be up in the studio.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He doesn’t go to the studio. He takes the lift down to the tunnels, goes to the garden pavilion and calls Chan.</p>
<p>“We have a problem,” he says without preamble.</p>
<p>A sharp intake of breath sounds from the other side of the line. He knows at that hour Chan has just arrived at the station.</p>
<p>“At your service.”</p>
<p>“Mark-hyung died this morning. Suicide,” he adds before Chan can speculate. “None of us can leave the house. My first call is you, the second is Rachel Han. You handle Jisung after she calls him.”</p>
<p>There’s silence for a few seconds. Bambam sits down in the middle of the iron and glass structure, legs crossed, ears open to any interruption. He would love to have his Tibetan bowls now to wake him up from that horrible haze of worry and pain, but all he has is Chan’s voice.</p>
<p>“Alright, he’s supposed to come in at nine, I’ll get his exceptional licence ready by then and go to his place.”</p>
<p>“He can’t come to the funeral.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Chan says, voice rising a little, probably thinking Bambam is being unfair.</p>
<p>He thinks of how to convey the absolute maze they’re facing without letting Chan know anything he may tell Jisung. In the end, he settles for a tired sigh.</p>
<p>“I’m boss,” he hears the little exclamation on the other side of the line. “Yugyeomie is about to go rampage for this.”</p>
<p>“Uh, congratulations?” Chan sounds so conflicted he has no option but laugh. “Are you safe?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I just can’t expose Jisungie… yet. We’ll see how it goes in the future. Please, tell him I’m not being cruel, we can visit the grave together later, you both should come here after the whole thing is finished, there’s his part of the will I need to read. I’m just doing what Mark-hyung would’ve wanted, we don’t want any more violence.”</p>
<p>The seal-point Siamese he inherited from Jaebeom appears and starts sniffing him. She’s the oldest of all the cats, the black fur on her face and paws speckled with white hairs.</p>
<p>“Is Jamie staying with you?” Chan asks, taking him out of his reverie.</p>
<p>“Yes, she’s head of security now.”</p>
<p>“And Yugyeom-ssi is your lawyer.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Are you <em>sure</em> you’re safe?”</p>
<p>“Chan, my dear, don’t underestimate me,” he says slowly, the trees around him whispering in their secret tongue. The cat curls up against his leg and he takes solace in the fact that at least Nature seems to be on his side.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mark’s buried a week later. People attend, agitated like insects, wordlessly wondering what happened to make him commit suicide so out of the blue. Neither Dom nor Rachel show up. Rachel’s adoptive brother is there, under the guise of being an old-time business partner. Jinyoung sits by the coffin with them and accepts the sentiments. It’s a far cry from Park’s funeral, way less ostentatious, the power shift not so noticeable. Bambam doesn't throw anything into the open grave, but he leaves his ruby ring at home. It makes him feel exposed but helps him accept he cannot will Mark back from the dead by keeping himself attached.</p>
<p>After the grave is closed, he tells Yugyeom to go ahead with Peniel, and walks with Jinyoung, the winter sun burning on the snow while the security men follow him from two paces.</p>
<p>“Did you know he loved you?” Jinyoung asks. He’s still muted, a little off, probably from the aftershock.</p>
<p>“Yes and no,” Bambam lies, lights a cigarette, the filter turning bright orange in the sun. “It wasn’t…”</p>
<p>“Meant to be?”</p>
<p>“Up to me.”</p>
<p>“Do you think things would’ve gone differently if you had stayed with him?”</p>
<p>It’s a ridiculous question. Bambam hides his distaste by taking a drag.</p>
<p>“He survived longer than I expected, but I don’t know. I can’t vouch for a possibility, and I knew, back when they let Jaebeom-hyung be killed, that it was—”</p>
<p>Bambam shakes his head and stops in his tracks, eyes firmly set on Jinyoung’s.</p>
<p>“That he had it coming?” Jinyoung’s face goes a little more alive, the flame of revenge still burning.</p>
<p>“The only true destiny we have is the way we die, just so we can be born again,” Bambam says, repeating a phrase he used in his wedding vows, and resumes walking. “We live, we die, we try to learn something, but life isn't really ours to control. I had to learn it the hardest way, and I guess they did, too.”</p>
<p>“Why did he choose you to inherit?”</p>
<p>It’s another stupid question, because Jinyoung knows Yugyeom, has watched all of them handle him over the years.</p>
<p>“I’m good with business,” he says airily. Jinyoung grabs his arm. His whole face is alight now, the way it never really is because he’s always hiding behind some great pain or fantastic love.</p>
<p>“Don’t lie to me. Were you and Mark-hyung fucking?” he asks bluntly. Bambam’s eyebrows rise.</p>
<p>“No, hyung,” he says. “Yugyeomie’s jealousy is a loaded gun, I try to keep him aimed at people other than my friends.”</p>
<p>“So, he’s a beast for you to sic on your enemies, then?”</p>
<p>“On the contrary. My husband is bad with boundaries, especially around me. I’ll always be his favourite victim,” he pushes his hair out of his face.</p>
<p>“Why did you marry him, then?”</p>
<p>Bambam smiles like he used to, the way that made him look mysterious and sly when younger. At the age of thirty, the expression probably looks like a dirty smirk.</p>
<p>“He’s got a cock that good, ya know?” he shrugs, letting his accent slip. “Can fuck me brains right off me mouth, suppose that give him some right over me.”</p>
<p>Jinyoung’s face morphs into a mask of shock and disgust. Bambam laughs out loud, uncaring of the opinion of the few people left in the cemetery.</p>
<p>“Don’t forget where the two of us come from, hyung. I know you like it, it’s the same place Jaebeom-hyung came from, too.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you dare—”</p>
<p>“What, speak of your husband? He and <em>my</em> husband are the same type of violent, destructive men. They get themselves ruined, as you very well know. I’m not the touchy type to pretend otherwise.”</p>
<p>He takes another drag, hoping he’s making himself clear. Jinyoung’s head is bent as if he’s thinking; he’s probably only just realising Bambam knows about him and Yugyeom sleeping around.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he finally says, looking over at the empty grounds, still as polished and elusive as he was twelve years before when Bambam first met him. “I suppose they’ve got a cock that good.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>That evening Yugyeom finds him in their bedroom balcony. He wraps his arms around Bambam’s waist and sways them from side to side for a while, his breath quiet on Bambam’s ear. Bambam’s fist clenches around the satin box he chose to keep his and Mark’s rings.</p>
<p>“Come to bed with me?” Yugyeom asks with his sweetest voice.</p>
<p>Bambam turns around in his arms, little box safe in his pocket. Yugyeom is still dressed for work, fine dress shirt rustling when Bambam runs his hands down his chest, goes on his tiptoes and kisses him with all he has. It reminds him of their first real kiss, the emotions raw and so massive he feels like he’s about to burst. Yugyeom’s hand goes up and down his back, pulling him closer like he wants to swallow Bambam whole.</p>
<p>The kiss breaks when they’re both out of air, and Bambam looks at him through the cloud of desperation and asphyxia.</p>
<p>“Your gun,” he barely recognises his own voice as he puts out a hand. Yugyeom opens the holster at his hip and gives him the pistol. It feels alien in Bambam’s hand, thinner than the ones he was taught to shoot with, bigger than the ones Mark owned. This one doesn’t have a safety pin, either. “I know it was you,” he says and caresses Yugyeom’s face, pale with the reflection of the snow on the ground below them. “Why do you hate me so much?”</p>
<p>His voice is almost a whisper, too tired to fight. Yugyeom’s body gives a violent shudder and he starts sobbing, hands going to Bambam’s arms as he crumbles to the floor on his knees, face hidden on Bambam’s stomach. The gun is warming in his hand, and it would be easy to aim, pull the trigger, do what Jinyoung did. He’s sure Yugyeom wouldn’t react.</p>
<p>“I don’t hate you,” Yugyeom cries, “I swear I don’t, I didn’t think Jinyoung-hyung would kill him, I swear!”</p>
<p>Bambam almost believes him, but he knows better. He knows Yugyeom is crying because he failed for the first time, not because he regrets what he plotted. It’s pitiful to see a grown man sob like that, clutching at his legs and begging to be believed. But most of all, it’s repulsive to see him act out his own humiliation.</p>
<p>“You stupid greedy fucker, you thought you’d get everything you’ve ever wanted, didn’t you?”</p>
<p>“No! Love, no, I—”</p>
<p>“You thought me, the house, the power, all of that would be under your feet—”</p>
<p>“Please—”</p>
<p>“That you had destroyed everyone between you and your sick dream—”</p>
<p>“Hyung, I swea—”</p>
<p>He kicks Yugyeom off him and watches as he shakes, face contorted into an ugly grimace. The acting is so disgusting he aims and shoots three times right by Yugyeom’s ear, shattering the glass doors leading to their bedroom, the noise deafening. It’s not like it matters, he’ll just order new glass panes, but Yugyeom screams and curls on the floor.</p>
<p>“Don’t you fucking dare swear you’re innocent, you fucking disgrace of a bastard. I’m not stupid, <em>beloved husband</em>, I know all your tricks.”</p>
<p>He looks at the picture of chaos he painted and feels another dizziness spell approaching, so he walks through the ruined doors and down the stairs to his office, where he locks the gun in one of the safes. Then he sits down and presses two fingers between his eyebrows to try to keep his head from spinning. Jimin bursts in a minute later, hair falling out of her ponytail and make up smudged.</p>
<p>“What happened?” she asks, panic in her voice.</p>
<p>“Do you ever look around and wonder how the fuck did you get here?” he grits out, looking at the floor.</p>
<p>“All the time, yes.”</p>
<p>“Thirteen years ago, we were shivering in an alley in Daegu, worrying about money and clients.”</p>
<p>The world starts spinning and he lays down on the sofa, a little afraid he might throw up on the pillows. Jimin sits on the armrest and puts a hand on his hair. He watches as Velvet, Park-nim’s favourite Velvet, stretches and looks at them curiously.</p>
<p>“What happened?” she asks again. His eyes go from the cat to the pictures of his wedding ceremony, he and Yugyeom wearing red, kneeling facing each other over the golden pool on the temple, the string of pearls hanging between them and above their joined hands. He doesn’t regret it, but he wishes he could go back in time and fix things he had no foresight to see.</p>
<p>“Had to get a point across with Yugyeomie,” he says and pulls out his cigarettes box. Jimin lights one for him.</p>
<p>“I thought you were quitting.”</p>
<p>“Not in this state of mind,” he grumbles, still looking at the photographs. “Am I paranoid or is he smoking more than he used to?”</p>
<p>“Probably the stress of plotting an assassination,” she guesses, the spite in her tone making him love her even more.</p>
<p>“He’s so predictable,” Bambam says, bitter.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to hide it from me if you’re upset, Bammie.”</p>
<p>She’s the only person left to call him Bammie now, and it sparks a phantom ache in his chest, but he can’t bear to think about Jackson now, not right after burying Mark.</p>
<p>“I’m not upset, I’m <em>angry</em> at him. It’s fucking ridiculous he still feels like he needs to do shit like this.”</p>
<p>“What if it escalates? What if he retaliates?”</p>
<p>“He won’t. If he wanted to have me killed, he would’ve done it already, but he doesn’t. He likes to mess things up, but he knows better than to actually come at me.”</p>
<p>“But what if he does?”</p>
<p>“Then I’ll have my barely repressed urge to put a bullet through his skull to defend myself with. Don’t underestimate me.”</p>
<p>They stay there, in the dark, silent, just two pairs of eyes and two burning cigarette tips curling smoke around them. Velvet went back to sleep and Bambam can’t see him anymore. It’s another one of those dead moments he keeps experiencing since the shot woke him up to find Mark in a pool of blood.</p>
<p>“I’ll have to quit smoking,” Jimin says out of nowhere, “I’m pregnant.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“I’m not kidding.”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t put on weight willingly,” he says, sitting up. She slides to the seat beside his. “Did you tell Jaehyung-ssi?”</p>
<p>“Yes, at the funeral. He’s excited.”</p>
<p>It’s so ridiculous Bambam starts laughing and she follows him. They laugh, holding hands, terrified, hopeful and drunk on their own need to survive.</p>
<p>“I’m a mob boss and you’re a mother,” he wheezes, “who the <em>fuck</em> is in control of our lives?”</p>
<p>“You know, that’s the funniest part, that we chose to be here. We walked this path with our own feet, wove these lies with our own hands.”</p>
<p>They look at each other, and Bambam tries to think back of that teenage girl with fire in her tongue but can barely see her through the walls Jimin built to create this character she’s living.</p>
<p>“Let’s take the chance, alright? Make it different, make it better,” he says, head on her shoulder. Distantly he hears Jinyoung’s and Yoora’s voices.</p>
<p>Jimin nods against his hair just as the door opens and Jinyoung appears. He’s alone. Bambam doesn’t know why he is still on the mansion when he lives in an apartment in the city, but he doesn’t care, the house is big enough for all of them and he’d rather have Jinyoung under Yoora’s watchful eye than running to their enemies.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Jinyoung says, silhouette cut out by the corridor lights, “we’ve put Yugyeom-ah to bed in your guest room.”</p>
<p>“Good. Thank you, Jinyoung-hyung.”</p>
<p>He walks in, then, his face careful.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry I took what he said at face value.”</p>
<p>His apology isn’t something Bambam needed, but it feels good.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to be sorry for that, it’s only what Yugyeomie is best at,” he shrugs and sighs, trying to find the courage to finish what he started, but his movement is interrupted by Jinyoung’s hand on his knee.</p>
<p>He watches as Jinyoung does something he has never done, not for Park-nim, not for Mark: he kneels, takes Bambam’s bare right hand and kisses it, head bowed.</p>
<p>“My honour and devotion are yours to keep, Tuan-nim.”</p>
<p>Jimin is holding his left hand very tight, making the rings Yugyeom gave him press against his skin and bones. Despite his best efforts, Bambam feels his eyes fill up again, the old-fashioned pledge a final ghost of his and Mark’s vows. After a whole life running, hiding, whispering from the shadows, he has no choice but to lead.</p>
<p>After a lifetime of dispossession, he looks around at all the things and people he now rules, at the power over life and death and the blood money, and not for one second he feeds the illusion of ownership. Violence is a force of the universe and cannot be controlled; it took Park-nim by the hands of his traitors, Mark by the hands of his friends, and will take Bambam by whatever hands are deemed worthy, because the only true destiny he has is the way he dies, just so he can be born again.</p>
<p>And yet, through all the blood and sadness, there is one point of his life that can’t seem to be destroyed: the only constant, as unstable as it is.</p>
<p>A few minutes later, he arrives at the guest room to find Yugyeom sitting at the foot of the bed, his shirt’s collar and cuffs undone, eyes unfocused. Bambam stands in front of him and touches his chin, raising his head and pulling him back to the present.</p>
<p>“Hyung.”</p>
<p>Bambam has no tears left, but something deep inside him still aches at that echo of Yugyeom’s voice calling for him all their lives, from his very first word. Maybe if he had listened, they wouldn’t have destroyed each other in such a way.</p>
<p>“Yes, darling?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“I know,” he says, putting a hand on top of Yugyeom’s head to let him hide his face against his stomach. “I forgive you, darling.”</p>
<p>Yugyeom looks up, eyes made from darkness forged from hatred and betrayal. Bambam cradles his face in his hands, traces a thumb against his lips. The power over life and death, and yet, all he truly has is this man, his brother, his lover, his destiny. Just as Yugyeom meant for it to be.</p>
<p>“Love?”</p>
<p>“I forgive you, Gyeomie, do you know why?” he takes hold of his chin, forcing their eyes to stay on each other’s. Long gone are the days he dreamed of being able to play Yugyeom into cooperation. “Because you are right, we only have each other.” Yugyeom nods, silent, pupils dilating, whether from fear or arousal, Bambam can’t tell. “I am your true destiny,” he says, watching the hidden threat being realised, the way Yugyeom’s breath stutters.</p>
<p>“Bam—”</p>
<p>“And yet, Gyeomie, I’ll always forgive you, even when your time comes. Because <em>I have to survive</em>.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's all, folks! I hope it's been an enjoyable read, that nobody is too mad at me for slandering their bias (fun fact: JB is my ultimate and he gets the most slander, and I still don't know why).<br/>Most of the chapter was written with the soundtrack for The Godfather because why not, right? The exception is Jinyoung's PoV, written with Nights of White Satin by The Moody Blues.</p>
<p>It's the end of an era of sorts, for me, because I spent so long writing this, and it feels amazing to have it finished and published. Once more, I thank you all for your interest in this story, and say every single kudo, comment and bookmark along the way made me immensely happy 💚</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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